New Arrival
by Tdfgh1
Summary: Becky is dropped down into Oz and kills a tyrant. She meets Dorothy and continues driving down the Yellow Brick Road...complicating things a great deal with her modern behavior.
1. Chapter 1

I grabbed my backpack and cautiously opened the door. I gasped at the sight before me. Everything was so….so _bright_. It was pretty exotic looking too. Houses were circular shaped and made of white plaster with a domed roof; in fact it reminded me of pictures I saw during school on housing in Africa….was I in Africa? I erased that thought as soon as it occurred to me. I mean how could a tornado blow you halfway around the world then leave you standing? Totally absurd…but then where the hell am I?

"I don't think I'm in New Jersey anymore" Way to state the obvious Becky I scolded inwardly and turned around at a loss. Something caught my eye then. It looked to be…a pink bubble. It was floating toward me and growing at an alarming pace. I backed up, eyes wide as saucers with my mouth hanging wide open. The bubble then came to a stop and seemed to fade away, like a mass of pink fog being blown away by the wind to reveal a person. A woman.

My eyes were falling out of my head. She was like a polecian doll come to life, like someone taken directly from a fairytale, dressed in an extravagant if not ridiculous pink, sparkly ball gown, complete with a jewelled tiara and a pink wand with a sparkly star at the tip instead of a simple point. Then she spoke.

"Are you a good Witch or a bad Witch?" she asked with seemingly overdone perkiness or perhaps it was just her.

"Huh?" I said stupidly considering I just fell out of the sky.

"Are you a good Witch or a Bad Witch?" she asked again

_What the hell?_ _And what do you mean by witch?"_ "Uhhhh… well um…what's a Witch to you?"

"A Magickal person"

I stared at her blankly. "Err…..Magical?" I said uncertainly

"Yes dearie - magickal."

"Is this some sort of religious thing?"

"No"

"So then…."

"I mean this literally"

I blinked at her in disbelief. "Literally like…_literally?" _

"Yes!"

"Okay, then no. No I'm just a regular 16 year old kid. Becky Johnson from New Jersey"

"New Jerzay?"

"Yeah, it's in the United States"

"Oh!" she giggled perkily. "Then I'm a little muddled!" (_Ya think?)" _Because I was told a new Witch has just dropped a house on the Wicked Witch of the East! And there's the house and here you are, and that's all that's left of the Wicked Witch of the East" she said motioning toward my house and sure enough there was a pair o f legs sticking out accusingly at me.

The sight surprised me a bit. It wasn't really what I expected for a person's leg whose rest of the body got crushed to look like. I expected the legs to be deformed, for bones to have snapped up as open fractures, blood oozing around the protruding bones, bruises trailing from her knees (where the house had made contact) to her ankles. But no. The Witch's legs looked perfectly intact – pale, dead, and creepy looking but still intact. She also wore a pair of red, open flats that were also in perfect condition.

I had to be grateful the lack of deformities for I felt my stomach sink anyway as if I had swallowed a weight, my eyes grew wide, my mouth opened then closed as I struggled to sort out my thoughts – I had no idea where to start.

_Holy shit! I killed a person! Who was she? Does she have any relatives? What are they going to do with me? Crap I'm gonna get a criminal record in a country with magic bubbles and Witches….why I am I assuming the Witch was a she? What it's a guy? _

"Oh crap_"_ was all I managed to say "This…this is bad"

"Well hence her title "Wicked Witch of the East", it's really not that bad"

"Yeah but still!"

She merely shrugged and sighed which was a bit out of character. "So anyway, are you a good or bad witch?" she said

"I'm neither - I mean I didn't even know witches in this…context existed – "I was cut off by high pitched giggles sounding from the surrounding bushes.

"What in hell was that?" I said, scanning my surroundings with newfound trepidation.

"That was the Munchkins." She said "They are laughing because I _am _a Witch. I am Glinda the Witch of the North."

There was a pause. Did she expect me to bow down or something?

"So you're saying you're like a …magic…person"

"Um yes"

"Okay….So do you know how –"

"The Munchkins are happy because you have freed them from the Wicked Witch of the East" She said, cutting me off when I urgently needed to point something out.

"I get that they're happy but how –"

"And you are our national heroin!"

"Whoa! Hold up a sec-"

_Man, I'm awkward_

"It's all right! You may all come out and thank her!" Glinda continued, ignoring me. Then who I could only assume were Munchkins began emerging from the underbrush. I could only stare at them, speechless. They were gnome like figures, waddling slightly on their short, stubby legs and were all exotically dressed with shiny, striped waistcoats and top hats while women wore colourful skirts and tights.

I turned my gaze to Glinda who _still_ had that grin on her face and waving her wand around randomly….is she on drugs?

By now I was fairly convinced that Glinda was a loon….. yet the more I peered at her, the less convinced I became like when observing a figure from a distance, ones features tend to be blurred and hidden from sight and as you move closer, they become clearer. Her movements became robotic, her words expressionless and her eyes glazed over like a student at a school assembly where you tend to just zone out.

``_And meet the young lady who fell from a star``_

She turned for a moment and grinned at me – too prolonged a grin like an exaggeration. That's it! I realized. That's what she was – an exaggeration. An exaggerated arrival, an exaggerated fairy outfit, an exaggerated optimism, an exaggerated grin, plastered on her face as if her mouth was somehow sewn into that position….like a character out of a fairy tale. I glanced at the Munchkins.

They had their eyes glued to me expectantly. I wasn't sure what to make of this and remained silent.

"Why don't you tell us of your arrival?" suggested Glinda, coming to my rescue

"Alright" I said slowly "Well there was a tornado – I'm guessing you all know that and then…..I blacked out……"I trailed off having nothing else to say on the matter

Glinda cut in. "Let the joyous news be spread, the Wicked old Witch at last is dead!"

The Munchkins cheered in approval and gathered closer, singing and dancing, and grinning at Glinda and I warmly. Then an elaborately decorated carriage parked alongside the platform. The driver motioned for me to hop in and I obliged. I then was driven around the area, passing celebrating Munchkins and a group of men that appeared to be part of some kind of militia who were marching in formation. We came to a stop in the centre of all the excitement and stepped out of the carriage.

A semi circle of soldiers had arranged themselves around us. Then the two in the middle turned sideways to let through what looked to be a group of 12 year old Munchkin girls dressed in exaggerated pink outfits that clung to their bodies. They danced and sang; welcoming me to their country. Then a group of boys went up and did the same, handing me this huge lollipop.

"Err thanks" I said, putting their gift into my backpack. The door to one of the larger houses opened at that moment, accompanied by servants with trumpets who announced their Mayor's approach as he made his way toward me.

"As Mayor of the Munchkin City" He said "In the county of the land of Oz, I welcome you most regally –"

"But we've got to verify it _legally_ to see" cut in a different Munchkin

"To see." repeated the Mayor as if for clarification

"If she's morally, ethically –"

"Spiritually, physically – "said another Munchkin

"Positively, absolutely" cut in another

"Undeniably and reliably _dead_" they finished altogether

I stared at them incredulously. How can someone be morally, ethically and _reliably_ dead? I mean if you'redead - you're _dead! _Honestly, what is up with these people?

I nearly rolled my eyes when a physician came back from _examining_ the dead Witch

"I have thoroughly examined her" he said "And she's not only merely dead, she's really most sincerely dead" And with that, he produced a death certificate from his inside jacket pocket that the Mayor and physician signed with flourish. That was fast I thought…..maybe even too fast, too organized.

The grand parade complete with carriages, decorated soldiers and even a welcoming presentation and now an official death certificate - all conjured up in a matter of minutes.

There's no way all that was organized the moment I got here – I mean they all appeared something like 2 minutes after I arrived! They couldn't have notified the local militia then had them get here that quick and even if they did; their performance was too clean - too rehearsed and were even connected with the other performances like the "Lullaby League"

The realization hit me like a slap in the face. Were they anticipating the Witch's death?

I scanned the crowd with newfound awareness. There didn't seem to be anything particularly unusual. Everyone was cheering, singing and dancing with grins on their faces and waving celebratory flares in the air as what was to be expected with the death of a tyrant or whatever the Witch was. I looked farther to the side. There were fewer people there and they were all older and unable to hop around and join the activity so they merely sat back and smiled, admiring the young and chatting amongst themselves, grinning toothlessly which was slightly unsettling.

But there was one in particular who caught my attention. He wasn't that old – probably in his late 60s – still able to join the celebration (or at least somewhat) but for some reason had chosen not to. He wasn't all that tall though taller than the average Munchkin – maybe around 5 feet.

I looked closer.

Or perhaps it was just the way his back was stooped over into an arch, making him crouch like a monkey. He had his hands stuffed into pockets at his sides and refused to look up and acknowledge his surroundings. He was dressed in a simple home – sewn tunic with black leggings, a black cloak, and a black satchel dangling from his shoulder as if in mourning at a funeral in contrast to everyone else. He sighed and suddenly looked up to meet my eye. His expression darkened at the sight of me, his brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed and seemed to almost bore into the back of my skull while the rest of his face remained grey. Unchanging and unwelcoming

I felt a shiver run down my spine. He seemed almost _deathly _but he was alive – I know but not quite _alive_.

A sudden explosion tore me from my thoughts. I looked around in confusion.

The Munchkins had all hit the deck like a bomb went off, trembling on the ground and trying to avoid inhaling any red smoke while Glinda who came up to stand beside me just stared intently at the ground the way a child does when they're about to be prosecuted. Guilty.

I turned back to the smoke, coloured a brilliant red which was now beginning to clear. I nearly screamed at the sight.

That woman was _GREEN_.

She gave the off the immediate impression of a Witch ……but didn't necessarily meet all the criteria.

Her pale, ashen face gave her more of a haunted impression; her body seemed to be made entirely of angles that somehow managed to rearrange themselves to resemble human features. To top it off, she was dressed entirely in black; a simple black top, a pointed hat with a wide brim as if made to conceal her greenness from the world and her skirts, brushing the ground, moving fluidly about her. I looked closer. Her features seemed human like enough although they were sharpened enough to give one a pause. Her nose and chin seemed to almost resemble a snout while her eyes darted from place to place with the swift precision of an animal. She was like an undiscovered species of human rather than the demented, old, ugly hag Witches are known to be……and she didn't even seem that old. She was probably middle aged or barley.

"Am I in trouble here?" I asked even though I knew the answer. I was screwed

"I'm afraid so. She's the Wicked Witch the West." Glinda replied smoothly "She's even worse than the other one I'm afraid."

"_Brilliant!" _

For some reason, Glinda flinched at this. The Witch scanned the crowd of huddling Munchkins, leaning forward slightly like a hound

"Alright, fess up!" she growled like an animal "Who's responsible for this?" I remained silent "Well? Who killed my sister?"

Her _sister?_

Are you kidding me?

The Witch stalked forward, her broom dragging behind her and came to stand in the centre of the crowd, glaring menacingly at her surroundings in distaste….then she caught sight of me. I could feel my heart beating in my throat as she strode forward, never taking her eyes off me. I winced in advance, expecting her to shriek at me and to hop about in a crazed fit the way story book Witches are known to do. Instead she merely loomed over me, her tall, lanky frame blocking out the sun - her shadow consuming me.

"Was it you?" she said, her voice cold, level and strangely detached as if I were listening to a voice recording. I could feel myself starting to shrink.

_You're getting the wrong idea here _I wanted to say. "Um...sort of but…not" I said instead

The Witch narrowed her eyes "What the hell is that suppose to mean?"

_It was an accident. I had no reason to kill your sister – I had no idea who she was! I don't kill random people. _"Ah…well I did not intentionallykill her…my house landed on her and I happened to be there so….yeah"_ What are you doing?_ I thought, exasperated by my inability to speak properly. _If you want to say something, say it godamnit!_

The Witch's expression didn't change – in fact she looked even more ticked off.

"Well my little _pretty_" she said piercingly "_I_ can cause accidents too!

_C'mon, you know I have nothing to do with this. I mean really, do I look like a qualified assassin? _I only I had the nerve. "B - But I have nothing to do – "

"_Aren't_ you forgetting the ruby slippers?" Glinda cut in, sending me a warning glance. The Witch's eyes lit up at the mention of the slippers and she moved to claim them, muttering to herself. I watched her, confused at the randomness of all this. However, as the Witch neared the slippers, they miraculously vanished.

"They're gone!" She said in awe then turned angrily back at Glinda. "What have you done to them?" she demanded. "Give them back to me! Give them back or I'll…."

"It's too late!" replied Glinda sweetly almost patronizingly. "That's where they are!" She pointed at my feet.

I looked down. I was wearing them.

_What the fuck?_

"And that's where they'll stay" Glinda finished. I felt my heart stop

"Wait – do I get any say in this?" I said, my voice rising in horror

"Give them back to me." the Witch said to me, furious beyond telling. I swear, if this were a cartoon, she would have smoke coming out of her ears "I'm the only one who knows how to how use them so they're no use to you. Give them back to me – give them back!"

I threw up my hands the way one does in surrender "I don't even know what this –"

"Stay tight inside of them" Glinda whispered suddenly in my ear "Their magick must be very powerful or she wouldn't want them so badly."

"Then why don't you take them?" I hissed back

'"Hey, you stay out of this Glinda!" snapped the Witch "Or I'll fix you as well!"

I could sense an argument forming and discreetly inched away from the two of them. Glinda scoffed at the Witch

"Oh rubbish! You have no power here." she said, laughing. "Now be gone before someone drops a house on you too!"

The Witch looked sceptical at this. "Do you honestly think…?" She faltered noticing an odd shadow beside her, growing at an alarming pace. Then her eyes suddenly widened in realization and she dove to the ground with a yelp to avoid getting squashed….by a car. No _way._

It was a black Doge caravan minivan with tainted windows and a scratch on the hood.

"THAT'S MY CAR!" I couldn't believe it! My car (or at least the family car) had been transported to Oz!

"_YOU!"_ I jumped at the Witch's voice. She sounded _venomous._ I could my knees going weak as she strode toward me; newfound determination in every step

I gulped nervously"Um…that wasn't me." _Somebody do something!_

If looks could kill, the Witch would have been staring at a holocaust starting with me to the border of Munchkin land (wherever _that_ was). I glanced at the crowd of Munchkins - perhaps for guidance but they were all crouched on the ground, whimpering, their hands covering their heads as if looking up would get them killed. Glinda wasn't any better I noticed. She had at some point shuffled behind me and was shifting her feet anxiously, her eyes glued on the Witch as if she expected her to lash out at any moment. I looked back at the Witch, her intimidating stature towering over me like a predator. She seemed to almost relish in the trepidation she was causing – like a typical bully for lack of a better term.

I could feel myself bristling at the notion, my fear evolving to malevolence toward this suddenly _imposing_ character.

"_You…"_ The Witch said again through gritted teeth, looming over me. I stared back at her, this time not with fear but with wary resentment.

"Yes?"I replied curtly, surprising even myself with my sudden cold demur. The Witch looked like she wanted to bite my head off.

"Don't you take that tone with me child." she said menacingly.

I could feel my resentment toward her increasing like a virus, intoxicating me. "You have a problem with my _tone_ now?" I replied sassily.

"I have a problem with you in general"

"For _what -_ What have I done to you?" I hadn't done any intentional harm to her. I don't even think I'm capable of doing anything to her.

"What do you mean _for what?_ Are you honestly that thick? My sister is dead, you nearly killed me right after – and you're just an ignorant girl!"

This was unbelievable!

"God - you are full of conspiracy theories you know that?" I noticed Glinda twitch behind me "It – was - an – ACCIDENT!"

"Oh of course it was" The Witch replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Yeah, exactly! Glad you got that!"I said furious at her incredibly contentious attitude. Didn't she get it? I'm a kid who's never even heard of actual magic – well sure I've _heard_ of it but the notion is considered ridiculous! I couldn't have done any of that even if I wanted to! And I didn't want to!

The Witch stood still; fuming, crimson flames dancing in her once brown eyes, making them almost appear to glow. She was practically shaking in fury, her hands clenched in fists at her sides, her face flushed in hatred and perhaps humiliation of being told off by a mere child. I could hear Munchkins sniggering despite themselves in the background.

Hmm…. perhaps I shouldn't have said all that

You – you little _bitch!_" the Witch suddenly roared and leapt toward me like a beast. I let out a terrified shriek, all previous thoughts toward the Witch fleeing. I turned on my heel and took off not paying much attention to direction, my eyes wide in horror.

But before I could take ten steps, I managed to trip in my panicked state on a huddling Munchkin.

The Munchkins, I realized was part of the Militia I saw earlier although this one had blue stripes running down his uniform instead of white. He was crouched on the ground covering his head with his hands, his rifle forgotten beside him. In a frenzied panic, I managed to swipe the gun in one fluid motion, and then spring back up, awkwardly am rearranging my hands around the unfamiliar object, one hand gripping the handle and the other around the shaft. I knew in the back of my head this was useless. These guns are only decorative - they shouldn't be loaded

But as I spun around, the thing went off, jolting in my hands, sending shock waves through my arms, an explosion echoing in my ears making them ring. I yelped in surprise and flung the gun to the ground. Why the hell was that thing loaded? Was it part of the ceremony?

There was suddenly a scream

The Witch was withering on the ground, her back arched, her mouth open in a pain filled scream, her hands clamped around her right eye, a bright, red fluid seeping through her fingers and running down her face. The Munchkins had begun to rise during the commotion and were now staring in shock at the Witch, their eyes wide, some covering their open mouths, others standing still, frozen on the spot. The bolder of them were shouting of betrayal while others argued and pointed accusingly at the Witch or more specifically at the blood streaming down her face.

"Look blood!"

"How is this possible? The Wizard said Witches are incapable of bleeding – they're all dried up!"

"The Wizard would not lie to his people– its Witch craft!"

But one merely looked on with guilty satisfaction

"I…I didn't know it was loaded" I said meekly, feeling the urge to defend myself although the statement wasn't directed toward anyone in particular. As expected, everyone was too occupied to respond to my justifications. The Munchkins were in a state of shock. It just seemed wrong to see the Wicked Witch of the West; the most feared and powerful creature in Oz lying helpless on the ground, pressing her hands against her burnt and bleeding eye.

And there was also the fact that all this was caused by an unwillingly clumsy child carrying a gun full of blanks - not the military of Oz that had for years made it their prime objective to hunt the Witch and confront her with their expert snipers and squads. No. The first move was done by a foreign child that had dropped down not 30 minuets ago.

For a moment, the Munchkins considered moving in on the Witch.

_A mob diving in on her like a viscous bird swooping in to attack with remaining celebratory flares, the smell of burning flesh, the Witch flailing about to get away, her head thrown back in a satisfying scream as she felt flames burn her through skin, then through muscle, sinking deeper and deeper_….but the moment for violence had passed.

The Witch rolled over and struggled to a kneeling position. Then using her legs to push herself up, she instead propelled herself forward, the motion causing her to stumble dangerously downward. To everyone's surprise, it was Glinda who came to the Witch's aid. She thrust her arms out, placing her hands on the Witch's shoulders, her face filled with peculiar concern. The Witch jerked back roughly in return and turned for a moment to stare at me.

She brought her hand away from her eye. I recoiled at the sight, cringing. Her eye had completely clouded over in a brownish red color, the same substance running down her face like bloody tears. It bore into me as a tacit accusation.

"It's true I can't kill you here and now as I like" she said icily, her voice dripping with malice "But just try to stay out my way – just try! For in times like these _my pretty_ you must kill before you are killed."

"Can't you just sue me or something?" I can't believe that actually came out of my mouth.

For a moment the Witch sent me an exasperated look before crying out, throwing up her hands in frustration and storming off to disappear into bright, red smoke.

* * *

**This is sort of in reference to the original Oz books where the Witch has an eye patch - just so you know :)**


	2. Chapter 2

The Wicked Witch of the West sat at her desk with her head down, her bony forearm fitted perfectly in the dent between her forehead and nose. The neurons in her brain had betrayed her, ripping each other apart, obliterating one another so her head felt like it might explode, the pounding like echoing gunshots. And her eye stung like a steel wire had been inserted into the vitreous and was poking, digging into the back of her lenses. The gauze now seemed unnecessary.

She shuddered and let her conscious distract her.

_What new punishment is this_? She thought. _Haven't I endured enough?_

The green skinned child, born an aberration of the human species, either as punishment for her father's failure to the Unnamed God or for her mother's loose morals or maybe both? She could never be sure.

They called her the Devil Child.

But the Devil Child had continued to grow from a pixie of a toddler to a shy, awkward teenager yet quick to sound her own opinions. She'd disappear for hours – even days just for the comfort solitude provided her.

Then she went away permanently to Shiz University. The students at Shiz came from decent families who taught their offspring to be civil toward abnormities so she was left alone – not like the slums of Qhyore. She become quite outspoken, always quick to sound opinions and challenge professors, the younger ones grinning at her while the older ones sent her to detention. She found her talent and even made friends – The Charmed Circle.

She had a bright future.

But then the world revealed itself, placing a fork in her life, one path leading to life as a high ranking official, to be recognized, respected and to live as a fraud. The other lead to publicity of a different kind. To live as a fugitive but with a clear conscious.

She became the Wicked Witch of the West to Oz and Fae to the resistance.

But the name had died with him, the bright blood making a mockingly pretty contrast against his blue diamonds. He lay sprawled in the middle of the room, unable to be revived even after treatment with chants and nonsense words she had picked up along the way.

The Witch sighed bitterly. Nessa had always believed in the Unnamed God but why would he allow such misery in the world he controlled? How could he let her suffer like this? But then again, she was also considered Devils spawn so perhaps the Unnamed God was using her fate, twisting it into some horrid, tragedy of a life to drive to her into wickedness. Punishing her on behalf of the Devil….or perhaps she was merely being neglected like all other miserable creatures. That made more sense. She was a non – believer so therefore the Unnamed God was unable to believe in her. He had left her without guidance, allowing her to twist her own life into a tragedy – into wickedness.

But then there are people who really did believe and look what happened to them! Where is the sense in that?

_Oh Nessa_ the Witch thought, sighing. _You_ _had always believed so strongly in the Unnamed God ...but it appears the Unnamed God did not believe in you - The Wicked Witch of the East._

The Witch cried out in frustration and sprang up, her eyes blurry from being pressed against her forearm. She looked about the room, blinking to clear her vision. A blurry brass alarm clock by her bed that had gone dusty with neglect, a blurry pair of reading glasses, a blurry mass of paper strewn about the floor, a blurry crystal ball….she looked closer and felt her stomach sink for a moment. Was her vision really that bad? Was her other eye also damaged?

She saw to her relief that condensation was dripping onto the table.

The air within the frosty crystal ball seemed to rearrange itself, greyness swirling into a bright landscape, becoming trees, a brightly coloured road, some sort of large, funny looking vehicle and a group of disoriented misfits gathered around a figure on the ground, their clumpy silhouettes like masses of half set gelatine, constantly shifting their shape like the equivalent of fidgeting. Then finally one of them bent down and lifted the thing on the ground, it's vague, shapeless features separating into arms, legs, a head with a hat filled with a grassy substance like straw….

If the Witch could reach out and wipe the fog with the edge of her sleeve, she could see the vision with full clarity but decided not to.

She instead grabbed her broom and headed down the stairs, hoping not to run into anyone. How was she going to explain the gauze covering her eye?

But then again, it also depended on who she encountered. Nanny would certainly demand an explanation – the Witch knew that much from spending the majority of her childhood with the woman. It would be difficult to tell her off. And then there was Liir. Liir was not a problem – he'd barley have the nerve to ask anyway.

The Witch pushed open a side door leading to the north courtyard when she heard a voice behind her

"Elphie dear"

The Witch; Elphaba spun around to see Nanny of all people standing in front of her.

_Its official! The Unnamed God must hate me!_ Elphaba hoped that Nanny's vision had deteriorated enough so she wouldn't notice the gauze covering her eye. She felt foolishly like a teenager wanting to escape the watchful eyes of their caregivers.

"Elphie dear" Nanny said again "You aren't leaving again are you? Remember what happened last time you took one of your little voyages?"

"Must you remind me?" said Elphaba annoyed and turned quickly to leave, wanting to avoid further questioning.

"And what happened to your eye?" said Nanny before the Elphaba could walk out the door.

"Nothing of importance to you" she replied, cringing at the vagueness of her explanation. _This is pathetic _she thought._ I'm the Wicked Witch of the West, I've managed to defy the iron grip of the Wizard and escape the Gale Force but I can't escape my own Nanny?_

"Oh no - it can't be _nothing_ – tell Nanny"

"Why must you always assume something is wrong every time we speak? I appreciate your concern" She didn't "But it isn't necessary" Elphaba said tartly and strode out into the courtyard, closing the door behind her before Nanny bombarded her with complaints. She could never really escape that woman

Elphaba's mind went back to the image she saw – especially that figure that was lying on the ground, the way it's limbs fell limp when it was lifted, the way the others were hesitant to touch it.

She had a horrible feeling about this.


	3. Chapter 3

Time seemed frozen as the whole crowd stood still, rooted to the spot, staring intently at where the Witch had disappeared as if they expected her to show up any minuet, fully armed and seeking vengeance. Of course this didn't happen. I found myself at the brink of hyperventilating, the recent events playing in my head like a broken soundtrack.

My house landed on a Witch… the other one really mad… accused me of murder…accident...random shoes...I fucking blew her eye out ...actually my bad…now has a justified reason…she now has a justified reason…fuck…

"I am so fucking screwed" was all I managed to say, my voice a helpless squeak. Glinda turned to me quizzically.

"What' _screwed?_ Do you mean to say you're screwed into something?"

Oh for the love of god.

"No, it means…." I had to pause to think for a moment "It means I'm in trouble….in this case."

"Well in that case, yes - you most certainly are in a fix _my dear_" Her tone was unusual; still that perky, sugar coated tone but this time it seemed patronizing. I kept quiet, afraid to open my mouth and say something I might regret again. People are so unpredictable around here. Glinda turned to address the crowd of Munchkins.

"It's all right! She's gone, you have nothing to fear!"They were not reassured.

"But what if she comes back?" called out a Munchkin "she'll kill us all I reckon –"

"No! She's not coming back" cut in Glinda hastily "She has no reason to because you see; Becky here is leaving and taking the Ruby Slippers with her!" The Munchkins seemed relieved and cheered approvingly.

_Whoa! Wait a minuet! _I wanted to say. _You can't send me off just like that!_ "Um but where am I going?" I said, deciding now was not the time to be cocky. I caused enough trouble as it is – and I've been here for like half an hour!

"Oh! Well you want to get home don't you?"

_Of course! What do you think?_ "Yes. Yes I do…you have any suggestions?"

"Well I don't but there is one person who might be able to help you."

_Might be able to help me? Might?_ "And who's that?" _I'm screwed._

"Why he's the Great and Powerful Wizard of Oz!" Munchkins bowed their heads at the mention of his name…it's like Kim Jung Il and the citizens of North Korea. "He lives in the Emerald City and I'm afraid that's quite a long journey from here." She grinned at me, too cheerfully to be considered just happy - an exaggeration again…or maybe she's high or something - I mean she can't be like this all the time…

A random image popped into my head at that moment of Glinda in the same outrageous outfit she was wearing now, sitting in a cubicle in front of a computer monitor, her gown too excessive to fit on the office chair, pink fabric splaying all over the place…. she has a Bluetooth headset on, and is singing into the mouthpiece, dictating musical instructions to a bewildered customer…..yeah, that just doesn't work.

"Becky?" said a voice.

"Hmm?"

"About the Wizard?" Glinda peered at me quizzically.

"Oh right! Right – so he's in the Emerald City?"

"Yes" She said slowly "Are you quite alright dear?"

_Dear?_ "Yeah – yeah I'm good. So how far is the Emerald City?"

"Oh it's quite far I'm afraid" She made a sweeping motion with her wand in a northern direction where I could barley make out a sparkling speck of green which must have been it.

"So did you bring your broom stick?" asked Glinda.

_You know if I tried that I'd die_ "No, I didn't."

"Well then you'd have to walk."

_Walk! You can't be serious!_ "Wait - walk? You want me to _walk_ all that way!" _In heels too!_

"Yes is that a problem?" replied Glinda pleasantly. "The shoes shall protect you and prevent you from tiring."

I couldn't help to slap a hand over my eyes. "You're kidding" I said.

"W – Well no, I'm not um _kidding._" She sounded awkward saying that like the way a 50 year old would sound saying 'Yo!'

"So you actually expect me to walk while being hunted down by a homicidal, green person whose sister I unintentionally smushed in a totally foreign country with no ID, money or _anything_"

"Err well you could still– "

"Oh yeah!" I said remembering "And now she actually has a legitimate reason to be pissed because I also...um…

"Shot her eye out" Glinda said flatly but the accusation went unnoticed

"Right, right and that time it was actually my bad sooo…."I trailed off, leaving Glinda to figure it out the rest.

"Yes I…I understand you're in trouble dearie" she said, sounding slightly uneasy "But you must remember the Ruby Slippers will protect you so all you have to worry about is how to get there! You just follow the Yellow Brick Road!"

"Yeah but if the shoes protect me and all that, it wouldn't matter whether or not I walked or took like a …" I paused to think. What kind of transportation do people usually use in this place? "um…like a train or something"

I saw Glinda swallow and she began fiddling with her wand, twisting it around in her fingers "Uh well the trains are unavailable at the moment so you'll just have to walk I'm afraid."

Hmmm…well I don't know how to ride a horse.

"Is there any other kind of transportation available?" I asked. Glinda shook her head and had stopped fiddling with her wand.

Looks like I have no choice then. I groaned inwardly and was about to turn my head to see how far I had to go but then stopped myself. What good would that do? I thought. The distance won't change, I know the sight won't be reassuring – hell quite the opposite.

But on the other hand, it'll be kind of pathetic – being unable to even look at what lay ahead and I'll have to face it anyway so what's the harm?

…..It'll be depressing – Oh what the hell!

I turned and looked to see how far it was…and saw my car.

A stroke of genius struck me "You said these shoes 'prevent me from tiring' right?"

"Yes…that's what I said"

"Would it work on a vehicle?"

"I…I don't see why not…"

"Well then I'll drive there instead." I got my learners permit 6 months ago. I can drive.

Glinda eyes widened as I made my way to the car – a minivan to be specific "Are you sure it's safe to ride in that …thing?" she said, sounding like someone's worried mother

"It's totally fine – I know how to drive"

I hopped into the driver's seat, the Munchkins and Glinda following my actions with both fascination and trepidation the way a civilian would watch a tank crawl into their neighbourhood. I stepped on the accelerator and had to be wary of the Munchkins for they were in the midst of another celebration, singing and dancing right in front of me and it didn't help that I was driving a minivan and that the Munchkins were less than four feet tall. They cheered and seemed almost to be chanting. _"Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow the Yellow Brick Road! _They kept saying. I almost wanted to honk the horn to get them to move but decided that would just alarm them – it alarms everyone actually. I eventually made my way to the Yellow road which was quite wider than I thought – about the size of a 2 lane road. I shouldn't have too many problems with other vehicles.

I eventually got away from the crowd and was able to speed up. On either side of the Yellow Brick Road there were a series of dwellings, some houses others more like apartments with rectangular shapes, and in the distance I could see the glint of tall glass windows as the sun reflected on them their tops reaching about 40 stories like buildings in downtown New Jersey. This particular area seemed to be residential area.

I found the grandness of all this a bit overwhelming. Everyone seemed so…so _high class_. The houses were generally made of clean, white plaster, every door had a polished knocker carved into some animal, and the apartments were made of red brick, each unit with a balcony where people dressed in shiny coats and stiff collars waved encouragingly through large potted plants.

And then there was me from a blue collared town in New Jersey, living in a 2 bedroom flat with a splendid view of the concrete wall of another apartment. I knew it wasn't the Munchkins intention but it was like they were throwing all this in my face going '_Hah!'_

So I drove faster and looked ahead. I suddenly noticed amid the vibrant colors of cheering Munchkins, a spot of black like a speck of mold on an otherwise perfectly good apple. I drove closer.

It was that creepy Munchkin again only this time he was a mere few feet away from me.

He stared, glowered at me again – that same creepy, unwelcoming look. If I hadn't known any better, I'd say it was a look of resentment, the way his lips were pinched into a thin line, the way he fixed his narrowed , red rimed eyes on mine, the way his fists clenched and unclenched themselves as if twitching to take action. I wasn't sure what to make of this so I sat up straighter with my head up, eyes forward, jaw set like I hadn't even noticed him.

As I past him, I thought I caught a name on the satchel he was carrying.

Frexpar Thropp.

His reflection in the side mirror stared on at me, his presence still strong even after I past him. He was a haunting figure…like the Witch, dressed in black, his face pale and ashen, his figure spiky and hunched as if the effects of gravity had caused his body to compress on itself, leaving him crooked and short as many elderly are.

We watched each other through our reflections in the mirror until we were far enough to see each other fade away, leaving me filled with wonder.

Frexpar Thropp. Sounds kind of English but who could he be?

**Reviews are greatly encouraging….**


	4. Chapter 4

It was the biggest, most deadly tornado Kansas had ever experienced. Trees were ripped from their roots; taking years of topsoil with them, houses were torn from their foundations and reduced to splinters while the population listened fearfully from underground shelters, hoping in vain their properties were not already blown to bits.

And amid all this chaos was a 12 year old girl clutching her dog and basically running for her life.

She got to her house and flung the door aside, casting it off into the increasing wind

"Aunt Em! Aunt Em!" She called desperately running from room to room. She came to her bedroom. "Aunt Em – Ah!" She yelped as the window frame came loose and struck her in the head. She collapsed onto her bed, unconscious.

The house was lifted clear off the ground and into the tornado, spinning out of control, furniture sliding across the floor, cups, plates and silverware sliding out of their drawers, exploding into dangerous shards and imbedding themselves into the walls like bullets. Dust and debris came in from the windows, littering the floor with twisted wires, splintered remains of woodworks, and numerous plants that mashed together and became masses of undistinguishable vegetation flying about the house.

Finally, the house stopped spinning, the sudden change in momentum jolting Dorothy awake.

She cautiously picked her way across the house, grabbing an intact basket on her way out. She opened the front door and looked around in utter shock and confusion.

Her house had landed smack in the middle of a yellow road surrounded by lush, green fields dotted with occasional trees and other plants. It was the complete opposite image of Kansas - dry, dusty, boring Kansas.

Dorothy grinned in sudden elation. She had wished to be out of Kansas hadn't she? To escape nasty, old Gulch and social requirements that basically stated she should stay out of folk's way_ 'And find yourself a place where you won't get into any trouble' _Her Aunt said to her that day. Well it seems she had accomplished this.

"We must be over the Rainbow!" she exclaimed jokingly in fearful excitement.

"Hey um - kid!" said a voice nearby.

Dorothy's head spun around so fast, she could have given herself whiplash. Standing a few feet away from her was a girl a good deal older than Dorothy. She was dressed in the most peculiar clothing Dorothy noticed. First she was wearing pants – _pants!_ They weren't even overalls and clung to the girls legs as if they were a few sizes too small. Predictably, she was wearing a shirt – an inky, blue, V neck shirt and what looked to be a thin jacket with a hood and zipper. It was like she was wearing a shrunken, tighter fitting version of men's clothing. But what was stranger was the vehicle she was leaning against. It seemed to resemble an automobile but it nothing like the ones in Kansas. This one was sleek and had a rounded, futuristic look to it.

The strange girl spoke again. "I…I'm guessing you're not from here" she motioned towards the now more or less intact house that had landed in the middle of a road.

"No" said Dorothy "I'm not. I'm from Kansas"

"Like Kansas from Earth right?"

"Yessum…I am from Earth…" this was getting stranger by the second. Of course Dorothy was from Earth! Where else could she have originated from?

The girl continued "Do you know where you are?"

"Well I'm certainly not in Kansas"

"Nope you're not." The girl paused "You're in like…Oz"

"Oz?" she had never heard of such a place. Was it even in the States? Dorothy felt a sudden rush of fear run through her. How far was she from home?

"Yeah…how should I put this" The girl paused to think while Dorothy waited impatiently for an answer "Well…you're not anywhere in the States that's for sure"

_Oh dear this is not good_ thought Dorothy "So where is Oz?"

"You know, I'm not entirely sure. I'm not from here either. I'm from New Jersey and I got here like 2 hours ago"

"Oh my!" said Dorothy in awe. "What a coincidence, how're you gettin home?" What a relief! A fellow American. Perhaps she could go with her.

"Well" said the girl "I was told to go see this guy – a Wizard actually. He apparently knows…or _might"_

_She speaks strangely. Isn't Guy a boy's name?_ "Would you mind if I came with you?"

The girl seemed hesitant and brought her hand up to rub the nape of her neck in a sheepish manner.

"Well I…I wouldn't recommend it" she said, smiling apologetically

"Why ever not?" Dorothy said, stung.

"What – no! No, no" the girl said hurriedly, waving her hands in front of her as a pardoning gesture "It's got nothing to do with anything like that. It's just that I've ticked off this crazy, homicidal person so it's not a good idea to be travelling with me"

Dorothy raised her eyebrows, quite taken aback. The girl had certainly put _that_ bluntly. "W – Well that…did you say _homicidal?_" Or was it merely a figure of speech?

"Yeah she's a _Witch"_ she said, emphasizing the word Witch as if she were also unsure of the truth in it for Dorothy was hardly able to believe she heard correctly.

"Did you say Witch?"

"Yes believe it or not. I mean she can like teleport – but that could just be transportation and it's actually pretty good transportation I guess" she shrugged.

"Well you could say that" this was getting off topic "But if you're tryin to get back to the States'n all, I'd like to come with you."

"Yeah but there's the whole Witch thing"

"Well she hasn't come after you yet has she?"

"Erm …no" The girl replied slowly

"Well then maybe she ain't all that dangerous after all. Nobody likes to kill others"

"Yeah, well..."the girl seemed to put this into consideration, bringing Dorothy's hopes up. Perhaps she wouldn't have to go through this all alone after all "Well…it's been two hours already and like the Witch can teleport so she could have been done with me a while ago…" The girl looked up at Dorothy "But there's always the chance…"at Dorothy's genuinely disappointed expression, she quickly added "But I guess if things start acting up, you can just ditch so…" she paused as if reconsidering "Well…sure why not?"

_Thank the Lord._

Dorothy grinned broadly and followed the girl to the vehicle. She hesitated as the door was slid – not opened – but slid open for her with unnaturally fluid movements. Was the girl going to be operating this thing? The thought was unsettling.

Oh, yeah!" said the girl suddenly "My names Becky by the way" she turned to Dorothy and seemed to notice her hesitation to enter the automobile. "You know" she - Becky said "If you get car sick, you can ride in the back"

"Nome its fine"

Dorothy found the interior to be better quality than she expected for an automobile. The seats had a more secure feeling to them, sort of like an easy chair but more compact. Her eyes widened as she glanced at the dashboard which was decorated with buttons and glowing numbers that seemed to shine with their own fluorescent light. Even the speed and gas metres were impressive. They were of the same basic design but they were much clearer, more neatly set and they sat under a dome of glass so its numbers were magnified. New Jersey, it seemed was much more advanced than Kansas – it was like stepping into the future.

Becky's voice broke her thoughts "You know, it would great if we had a GPS" she said jokingly

Dorothy agreed in a polite, general way, finding new respect in this peculiar girl. She suddenly brightened in realization.

"Does this err _car _play records?" she asked

Becky looked at her, her eyebrows raised "_Records!"_

"Yessum"

"Like records as in those huge disk things?"

"Um yes…"

"Well…it plays CDs" Becky replied in a funny voice and magically opened a compartment set into the dashboard in front of Dorothy. Dorothy rooted through the slim, plastic covers and picked one that seemed interesting. Dorothy had seen a few music band covers back in Kansas but they were nothing like the one now held in her hands. It had a single word written on it by an artist who had an impressive talent in precision (it couldn't have been typed – it had color). It had the word WANT written exactly in the middle, set against a black back color.

After a number of trials and of Becky casting sidelong glances at her, Dorothy finally managed to open the thing, revealing a cardboard thin disk with a hole in the middle like a mini version of a record disk.

"How'd you put this in?" she asked and Becky, with a peculiar look on her face pointed at a slot in the middle of the dashboard. Dorothy slipped the disk in halfway and the machine swallowed the rest. She sat back and listened, her eyes wide in shocked astonishment and disgust as Tapp by _3OH! 3_ blared from the speakers, filling the car with never before heard techno music.

**Like it? Hate it? Press the green button and let me know…you know you want to….**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hedwig466****: You'll see….**

The girl – Dorothy must have been the strangest girl I have ever met.

First she appears out of nowhere, claimed to be from Kansas and was dressed like someone's grandmother from the 1920s. I mean who wears checkered dresses and white blouses any more? And what's with the wicker basket? But then again, maybe she was having a…a costume party. Yes. That made sense; she was having a 1920s themed costume party in her house then the tornado came and picked her and her dog up. But then she asked if this car plays records – _records!_ Was Kansas really that isolated?

But despite her quarks, it was comforting to have a fellow citizen from Earth and not to be alone in this place.

"What kind of music is this?" Dorothy asked in a strangely bewildered tone.

"Alternative"

"But…what kind of instrument is playing this?"

"An instrument called computerized audio effects" I turned to grin jokingly at her but when she looked back at me, her face was serious as if she took the statement literally. Weird.

I sat back and looked straight out the windshield. I still found this place to be a bit imposing. It was beautiful to the extent it seemed almost unnatural. We were in the country side of Munchkin land and on either side of us were lush pastures dotted with trees, brightly coloured flowers and other plants I did not care to identify or that could have been really exotic looking weeds. In the distance were farmhouses with billowing chimneys, windmills, children frolicking out in the fields, merry as a child's play set or in a picture book….or like those advertisements you see on milk cartons.

I turned my attention to the CD playing and found myself humming along. It was nice to have a memento of home.

'_Shush girl, shut your lips'_

'_Do the Helen Keller'_

'_And talk with your hips!'_

'_I said – '_

"What do they mean by '_talk with your hips'_?" asked Dorothy, painfully innocent.

"What do you mean?" Don't tell me she actually_ doesn't know._

"I mean your hips can't talk! So why do they tell you do so?"

She just looked so innocent. There's no way I could corrupt that little mind of hers…

"Um…well…they don't talk intellectually" I explained lamely and quickly looked down, pretending to be fascinated in the gas metre to avoid further questioning. It was then I noticed that the needle on the gas metre had not moved throughout the entire journey and that according to the device, I still had full tank!

'_You said these shoes prevent you from tiring right?"_

"_Would it work on a vehicle?"_

"_I…I don't see why not…"_

Well that's certainly a huge relief...hey this could solve energy shortages back at Earth! I mean people won't need gasoline to power their car, buildings could use this instead of electricity…

"Becky look!" Dorothy pointed in a rather childish but rather endearing manner. I looked up …and saw there was a fork in the road. A _flipping fork in the road!_

I pulled over, groaning inwardly then stepped out of the car followed by Dorothy. We were in the middle of a corn field that splayed into two directions with the Yellow Brick Road running along each field.

"Oh dear" I heard Dorothy saying "Now which way do we go?" she turned to me expectantly

"I don't know. I was told to just follow the Road….oh hell Glinda" I muttered.

"Who's Glinda?" asked Dorothy.

"She's the first person I met when I dropped down here. She told me to just follow the Road"

"Oh dear me we are in a pickle"

What the hell is _pickle?_ She sounds like…like my grandmother!

We stood there awkwardly for we didn't know each other well enough to start a discussion. We were at a total loss. I looked in the distance at the slight smudge of green which was the Emerald City. I still couldn't make out which road to take for the Road dipped in out of sight behind hills then reappeared again with a different alignment.

"Excuse me. Perhaps I could be of assistance" said a man's voice.

Dorothy and I jumped and spun around with bewildered expressions on our faces. Who the hell was that? We're the only ones here aren't we? I scanned the cornfield for a hidden farmer or merchant and saw nothing except a scarecrow hanging from a pole, his straw head pointed at me. I stared back at it, curious.

There was something surreal about that scarecrow, the way its eyes were not buttons sewn into the cloth but marbles designed to look like actual eyes with whites, blue iris, and pupils, causing it to sort of pop out from his sack of a face. And its face actually _looked_ like a face – not a featureless bag thrown over some straw as what was to be expected. It had deep set, brooding eyes, high cheekbones (well not really bones) a sharp jaw line and a straight nose like a man's face. Must have took a while to build it.

Dorothy's dog, Toto started barking at it in askance.

"Now don't be silly Toto" said Dorothy "Scarecrows can't talk"

"I assume you're headed for the City?" said the Scarecrow

I screamed louder than I thought possible and fell backwards, my eyes popping out of their sockets, my mouth hanging open. Dorothy who hadn't noticed the Scarecrow talking looked down at me in concern

"Becky is something – "

"I –It just talked!" I could tell this wasn't a guy in a costume. It or _he_ or whatever had bits of him where the stuffing hadn't been fully packed which left noticeable craters in his torso - the cloth baggy.

"What! The Scarecrow?" She said in a bewildered, unconvinced tone like _What - The scarecrow? You're out of your mind._

"Yes!"

The Scarecrow rolled his freakishly real eyes and reached behind him, pulling a sort of lever and dropped lightly to the ground with a practiced air.

"My apologize miss. Didn't mean to frighten you like that" It or _he_ said, smiling what was perhaps meant to be friendly but it just made the whole 'living Scarecrow' effect creepier while the whites of his marble eyes seemed to pop out from his yellowish face, making a scarily bold contrast. Dorothy and I exchanged shocked glances, screamed uncontrollably and ran in a frenzied panic back to my car. I tore at the door, slid it open and flung myself onto my seat. Dorothy was already in the seat beside me.

"Becky GO!"

I didn't need to be told. I slammed on the accelerator, jolting the car into action. We sped down the Yellow Brick Road, our hearts pounding, so we could feel the pulse creep up our throats.

"Is it - he following us?" Dorothy asked.

I looked down at the side view mirror and saw that no – the freaky, walking Scarecrow thing was not coming after us. I also noticed the rate at which the scenery was moving so that figures blended into one another and became an indistinguishable blur…how fast was I going? I glanced at the speed metre.

I was driving at 110 Km per hour.

It suddenly occurred to me that perhaps all this panic wasn't truly necessary. I mean it didn't seem like that Scarecrow had bad intentions – it actually looked like he wanted to help us and he was even polite – quite a gentleman come to think of it…but this was a TALKING SCARECROW what were we suppose to make of that?

I suddenly remembered my driving courses. _Always keep your eyes on the road _I was taught. I started to sit up -

"BECKY WATCH OUT!" screeched Dorothy and she tugged my shirt so I sat up, the sudden movement sending my head spinning.

"What?"I said. For a moment I was clueless but then I saw it.

There was a person standing in the middle of the Road. She was dressed entirely black; a plain, black top, a black skirt and a black cone shaped hat with a wide brim ducked down slightly as if made to hide her green face.

"AH SHIT!" I cried out in surprised panic and frantically stomped on the brakes, the tires screeching as they skidded along the Road, the car lurching at the sudden change of momentum and slowing down rapidly but not stopping.

She noticed the oncoming vehicle at the last possible second and turned to face it. Her eye that wasn't covered with gauze widened in shock, her arms up were in front of her face instinctively, and her mouth opened in a scream we could not hear through the car's interior as we continued toward her. The car – a minivan to be specific slammed straight into the Witch. I closed my eyes the way a child would during a scary part in a movie, still able to hear and comprehend what was happening but unable to see it.

The Witch's foot was caught under the front wheel, causing the bones in her leg to split and for her to double over against the hood, her head slamming against the windshield with a _thud_ and a sickening cracking noise like splintering wood and she slid off the hood, limp like a rag doll. As the car continued to skid forward, we felt the front rise the way it does when going over a speed bump. Then car suddenly stopped unnaturally abrupt, sending Dorothy and I and our stomachs lurching forward as if we had hit an invisible barrier that kept us from continuing forward and causing further damage.

I opened my eyes. The once clear windshield was now smeared with dark red fluid that had seeped into cracks in the glass, forming a bloody spider web smack in the middle of the windshield. The blood was quite a bit denser than I expected. I had always thought of it to be liquidly but it was more like the texture of thick syrup than anything else. I sat there stunned but at the same time lulled by watching those droplets of dark red dripping slowly down the windshield like little, shiny marbles, leaving a line of blood in its trail the way a snail would.

I suddenly remembered Dorothy and glanced in her direction. She had paled dangerously and was curled up in her seat, clutching her mutt.

This was going to be one hell of a famous hit and run accident.

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	6. Chapter 6

**This would explain the summary and chapter 2 for anyone who was wondering.**

**Also about the fiyeraba thing, you will get some eventually but Elphaba and Dorothy and her crew don't meet until the end but don't worry! I have a lot planned for Elphaba in the mean time...**

Wordlessly, I set the car to reverse and backed up off the Witch. For a moment I sat there dreading to see the destruction I caused. I remembered articles and photos I saw of hit and run accidents, the victim lying lifeless on the ground, paramedics swarming the area. I didn't want to look at her.

But I couldn't just sit there forever. As I slid open the door, I wondered vaguely what would happen if I just left. What if I were to drive off like this never happened and leave the Witch for some other person to find and deal with? A local who has lived in Oz their whole life and who has knowledge of certain resources such as where the nearest hospital is, if ambulances are available. Would she be better off if I drove off and left her in more capable hands? Or would she die before anyone found her?

I stepped out of the car.

I nearly fainted at the sight.

The Witch had fallen perpendicular to the car, her head lolled to the side. The blow to her head had exposed bits of her skull through the gash running across her forehead, blood gushing all over her face, soaking into the gauze taped over her eye and into her shirt, making a mockingly pretty contrast against her green skin, her foot was twisted, hanging crazily outward with bits of bone protruding from her ankle like white slivers and her leg seemed to have split open, bones sticking up from the wound. But worse was that her entire lower body was covered in tire burns that had scraped off layers of skin, leaving messy, sticky lesions that clung to her cloths, staining them dark and wet. And those were only external injuries for I could also see she had blood flowing out of her mouth, and she had red spinal fluid dripping from her ears. A pool spread from her like a mass of hot, dark – almost black syrup, slowly creeping along the Yellow Brick Road as if her fluids were attempting to escape the wretched body they had been placed in...which is actually extremely insulting.

"I…I'll go get help" stuttered Dorothy and she hastily turned to sprint off down the road, leaving me alone with the half dead Witch.

"Hey Dorothy wait…" she didn't respond either because she was too far down the Road to hear me or because she was simply ignoring me in order to get away. Damn.

I groaned and turned my attention to the Witch. For a moment I could only stare at her in horror. I had never seen anyone or any_thing _with severe injuries except in movies but that hardly counts – it's not real, only visual. I could smell the coppery scent of blood as it drained from her body and all over the Yellow Brick Road, glistening in the sun and it was becoming nauseating to breathe – the stench of blood had seemed to grab at my stomach, slowly twisting it as I continued to stare at the broken Witch. I averted me eyes. I didn't want to look at her.

But on the other hand, this was almost comical. In the stories – fairytales that are read by children and _too_ children, the Witch is always the old (in most cases _centuries_ old if that's even possible), shrivelled up, crazy hag, cackling madly while dancing around a smoking cauldron or riding about on a broom, relishing in her own wickedness as she basically scares the hell out of everybody.

But this Witch; the Wicked Witch of the West who probably wasn't a day over 40 seemed to have almost wanted to defy the standard perception of a Witch by getting killed in one of the most common ways; by being hit by a car driven by an unqualified teenager. I mean totally how out of place is that?

I tried to imagine how a fairytale like this would go.

_The Witch came after the girl who had managed to escape from her tower. _

_The Witch chased her down through the courtyard, and into the forest_, _screaming curses and threats of oncoming violence if the girl didn't come back this instant. They ran through the forest and came across a road…a paved, one lane road. _

_The girl crossed without an issue, the Witch burst through the underbrush after her and was halfway across when - _

_WHACK!_

_The car drives on._

_The End._

That would have been the greatest parody ever.

The Witch remained motionless.

I gulped and hesitantly but full of will, made my way toward the Witch with my hands pressing down into my sweater pockets, my steps shaky. I was standing directly over her, covering my nose and mouth. She was a wreck.

"Hey…" _Hey Witch_…Nah that doesn't sound good. "Hey uh...Miss?" she didn't respond.

So I nudged her arm with my foot, seeing if she could register touch. No response.

The next level of unconsciousness is if she doesn't respond to pain. I stepped on her fingers, leaning over so my weight was concentrated on the foot that was pressing on her. Still no response.

"Aw c'mon" I muttered desperately and in a last ditch attempt for reassurance that the Witch was still somewhat conscious and not dead, I lifted my foot and stomped hard on her hand, half expecting her to suddenly leap up in fury and wring my neck…like a zombie. But she remained deathly still like a tacit reminder to my careless driving. _Always keep your eyes on the road_ I was told over and over again in my lessons to the point it became annoying. Well now I see what they mean.

I sighed, exasperated at my stupidity. I can't believe I actually ran over a person! And it's a _Witch._

The Witch was starting to look a bit clammy and blood had drained from her face and onto the Yellow Brick Road causing her to turn a strange mint green color. Is it possible to go into shock while unconscious? I should have taken a first aid course.

I went back into the car deciding there was nothing more I could do to help and rested my head on the wheel, closing my eyes. I'm not sure how long I stayed there but before I knew it, I heard Dorothy calling out from down the Road.

"Becky I got somebody!"

I bolted upright and hopped out of the car to be faced by Dorothy and her handsome, straw companion.

"Oh my god! _Him?"_ I shrieked more in shock than anything else. It – _he_ didn't seem too harmful. It was just freakily unnatural to have a scarecrow actually walk and...function.

"Ma'am" he said not sounding _too_ offended. "I assure you my intentions are of nothing but the best."

"He means it Becky" said Dorothy earnestly "He ain't gonna do harm to anyone."

I…I know but like…"

"Like what?" asked Dorothy

He fucking scares me. "Like…never mind – its fine" I said, deciding that if Dorothy can get over it, so can I.

"So what's the problem?" asked the Scarecrow light heartedly, totally oblivious of the scale of the problem. He probably thought we had a flat tire or something. I wondered if Dorothy should have told him.

Dorothy and I exchanged looks, cringing and led him down the Road where the Witch lay. I remained expressionless for I could feel no emotion toward the Witch. I ran her over, she's probably dying and it was totally my bad but this was the _Witch_. The Wicked Witch of the West who accused me of murder and actually _wanted_ to kill me. This was an accident. It wasn't my intent to kill her like she wanted to kill me. It was an accident I killed her. She would have murdered me.

But then again, there is the chance she's not dead.

"Here she is" said Dorothy flatly, pointing at the body. The Scarecrow did a double take at the sight, his marble eyes looking like they might fall out of his head...which in theory is possible.

"Sweet Oz this…this is the Wicked Witch!" he said, shocked to the core. None of us responded. He continued forward followed by Dorothy and I so we were all standing over the Witch, staring down at her broken body.

"Oh dear me." whimpered Dorothy in horror, peering at the gash in the Witch's head and the blood it was gushing onto the Yellow Brick Road and the Witch's now eerily pale face.

"I…I never knew a Witch to bleed." whispered the Scarecrow, his weird eyes wide in awe. I couldn't help but to be curios.

"What do you mean?" I asked. He wasn't too scary.

"It's their age." he explained. "They are thought to be so old, that their fluids had dried up from age – at least that's what folks say."

What do the biologists say? "So what do we do?" I asked instead.

"We could…leave her…here"

I wasn't expecting that. Even he seemed unsure of it.

"Oh no we simply musn't leave her here!" exclaimed Dorothy. "The poor soul, she must be in pain."

"Miss Dorothy, Witches are known to be unable to feel pain" replied the Scarecrow.

"Yeah like they aren't known to bleed?" I shot back, not intending to sound harsh. "Plus, I thought you can still feel things while you're like unconscious like that."

The Scarecrow shrugged vaguely. "Well I wouldn't know. I'm brainless you see."

This was getting off topic. "Kay but do you seriously want to just ditch her?" and leave her for some other passerby to find…what if it's an old person and they get a heart attack! But then it could be better to leave her with a local instead of two clueless, completely foreign kids…the Scarecrow is a local. Why doesn't he doesn't he take charge?

"Well I certainly don't." chirped Dorothy, staring up at us endearingly like a child begging to be taken into consideration.

The Scarecrow and I exchanged glances. We had to come to a decision soon or the Witch might die on us anyway.

"Well how about…" I felt like I was discussing a road trip. _Fist, we can stop at Tim Horton's, and then_ _drive along the highway_... "We can help her out then turn her in…we can load her into my car – the seats are already down so there's space… but how are we gonna move her?"

"I know." said the Scarecrow, agreeing with this option. "One of you goes by her feet and the other at her waist."

We did as we were told, Dorothy at her waist and myself at her feet. We looked up at the Scarecrow who had positioned himself at her head.

"Now what you do" he said "Is slide your arms under her and at the count of three, we lift. Ready?"

"Ummm….." I looked down at the bloody mess of the Witch, her foot bent outward at a horrible looking angle, shards of bone protruding from her ankle while her shin seemed to have collapsed on itself …there's no way in hell I'm touching that and what if she's contagious? What if we turn _green?_

I tried to imagine myself with green skin, dressed in black skinny jeans, a tank top and black converse shoes…flying on a vacuum machine, the electrical cord dangling in the air. I'm suddenly wearing a Witch's hat and I'm whizzing around in the air, cackling like all Witch's do…until I smack into a window. I cleared my head of the distracting thought and focused on Dorothy and the Scarecrow. Dorothy looked just as disgusted as I was but at the same time, full of will. The Scarecrow looked like he wanted to just get on with it, the way he clenched and unclenched his fingers anxiously.

We stood there in silence, fidgeting uselessly, and hesitant to take action. Finally the Scarecrow made a move.

"Oh for Oz sakes!" he exclaimed and came over by the Witch's side then kneeled down, slipping his hands underneath her. He scooped the whole disgusting mess of her up bridal style so her head was resting on the Scarecrow's shoulder, her limbs hanging limp while her jellied blood ran thick and opaque down her face like an anxious stream soaking into Scarecrow's shirt.

"I can't believe this is happening" I muttered, staring at the Witch's broken figure, knowing I was the cause of her condition…shit if she dies, I could be charged with first degree murder! But she's a criminal so maybe they will just let me walk….

The Scarecrow shifted his shoulder "And I can't believe I'm actually helping you folks."

This got me thinking. Why _is_ he helping us? I tried to imagine myself in his position.

I get a request from an innocent little girl to help her with something. Can't say no, so I oblige and walk down with her to find she and her friend ran over a famous criminal who now lay in a great, bloody mess of broken bones and scraped flesh…I couldn't just walk away from that.

I looked up at the Scarecrow. I was surprised he was able to actually carry the Witch. He was made of straw which is not all that dense so one would expect for him to have some difficulty lifting a grown woman. But then again the Witch was thin – not anorexic thin but quite slim but still! She had to weigh at least a hundred or so pounds.

"This way." I said and led him and Dorothy to the van. I opened the trunk. I still found the space in this car to be quite amazing. I mean in the commercials you'd see kids being able to _stand_ in the car, play board games, draw and pretty much entertain themselves (according to the commercial) all while laying full length. The reason my eccentric parents bought this car was because they figured the increased mobility would keep me and my brother from fussing during long trips and it would be convenient when we brought friends. For a while, it worked but now since I'm 16 and my brother 12, its kind of pointless…unless you have transport unconscious people.

"You can lay her down the long way." so she was parallel to the walls. The Scarecrow stood sideways so the Witch's feet were first. He shifted his arms forward in a slow, tossing motion, leaning sideways and gingerly set her down, making sure nothing jerked or flopped over and that she was laying straight.

At least I know she's not dead. I thought. She's way too loose to be dead.

"Is she breathing?" I asked wondering why I was coming so late to this question. It's a vital after all.

The Scarecrow, Dorothy and I peered at the Witch's chest and saw no movement. Then the Scarecrow reached out and placed a hand on her ribcage. He stayed there for a moment before turning to me and shaking his head.

"Maybe you could tilt her head back a bit" I paused. What if she has a spinal? "But what if she has a spinal?" I added.

"It wouldn't matter by now" he replied. He had carried her and bent her spine already… but there was still a good chance that would have happened anyway - even with Dorothy and I cooperating. He turned his attention to the Witch and placed a hand on her forehead and the other on her chin, pushing it backward so her head was tilted far back. I peered at her chest and thought I saw a slight movement. I looked closer and saw it again. She was breathing but slightly. I still don't know how that works.

I took off my sweater and bunched it up into a roll.

"What are you doing?" asked Dorothy, looking at me quizzically.

Wordlessly, I shoved my sweater under the Witch's neck so her head remained tilted back. Dorothy and the Scarecrow hurried to either side of the car and hopped in while I closed the trunk. I got into the driver's seat. The Scarecrow was beside me.

Before I could ask, he told me about a hospital that was about 20 or so miles in the outskirts of Munchkin land located at the end of district 3…which was in the opposite direction but I wasn't going to argue. I did a clumsy U – turn, backing up onto the curb before managing to set the car straight, facing forward. I stepped on the accelerator until I was at 40 km per hour. This time, I kept my eyes trained on the Yellow Brick Road.

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	7. Chapter 7

The drive so far was fairly uneventful.

It was a beautiful day; the sky was blue without a cloud, the sun shone through the windshield warming my face and down reflecting off the Yellow Brick Road making it appear to glow. The scene would have been enjoyable if not for the nagging fact that the Wicked Witch of the West; the most feared creature in all of Oz was in the back of the car and so far hadn't made a sound. If I concentrated, I could pretend she didn't exist and that we were on a leisurely drive across the country side – not transporting a half dead Witch.

It was silent in the car. Dorothy was cringing slightly, hugging her mutt close to her like a comfort object while Scarecrow and I stared straight ahead. I could feel my heart beating, sending vibrations up my throat as if it were attempting to beat its way through my chest cavity. It was strange considering I had been sitting for over an hour. The tension in the atmosphere was becoming unbearable.

We drove on back through the apple orchard and the cornfield until we had officially reached the outskirts of Munchkin land where the population consisted entirely (it seemed) of three foot tall Munchkins with pale, almost literally white skin. They were dressed casually unlike downtown Munchkin land where they dressed like they were invited to some fancy dinner party. These people were dressed in polo shirts, baggy shorts like the equivalent of khaki pants and lace up shoes made with rubber soles and cloth that came up to their ankles like…converse? The women too were casual. Some – adolescents it seemed, wore white blouses and blue skirts with a logo on it. They were chatting amongst each other in large groups and were clutching books to their chests. Some of the others (not a lot of them) surprisingly also wore pants and plain, tighter fitting T – shirts.

This surprised me for a moment. I had gotten the impression of a 1900s kind of place but these people were actually pretty modern.

The buildings were also different. It was residential all around and consisted of plain, identical looking houses of white plaster and triangular, red roof tops in line perfectly with each other so they formed rows. The Yellow Brick Road cut a wide path through them, creating another section of rows. There were parks sometimes breaking up the rows and once I passed what looked to be a day care centre where scrawny, muddy children aged 3 to 6 chased each other in the dirt.

Actually, this area looked a bit like the suburbs.

"Becky" said Dorothy, wrinkling her nose "It smells like rust back here."

"Huh, rust?" I said, at the same time noticing it. It did smell like rust, kind of coppery. I suddenly froze in realization. We didn't stop the Witch from bleeding. "Hey Dorothy? How's the…the Witch doing?" I never thought I'd say that in my life _'how's the Witch doing?'_ I sounded like some one out of a story book.

I saw from the rear view mirror Dorothy turn around in her seat to look at the Witch.

"Dear Lord…" she whispered."Becky she…she's bled quite a bit"

Well that explains it the rust smell.

"Aw dammit – we forgot to stop the bleeding!" I couldn't believe this! I forget about spinal injuries, I forget to check her breathing and now I forgot to stop the bleeding! I _really_ should have taken a first aid course. Man, I'm hopeless.

Scarecrow seemed fairly unconcerned about this but then again this is the Wicked Witch.

"All this time folks thought she couldn't bleed…" he muttered to himself, shaking his head at either his own ignorance or the ignorance of his 'folks'. Then he spoke up "What do you reckon we do?"

"Somebody stop it!" Dorothy wouldn't be able to do that. She's just an innocent, little girl. She wouldn't manage and I was driving. "Scarecrow could you do it?"

He seemed neutral on the matter and shrugged.

"Sure" he replied as if he was agreeing to fetch me a soda. He looked around for a moment "What do I use?" he asked

"Ummm." there should be something. This car is always filled with stuff like cushions, blankets… "There's a blanket on the back seat"

He got up and went toward the back as I adjusted the rear view mirror for a glance. I saw him pick up a navy blanket off the seat and he made his way back toward the Witch. I couldn't help for my eyes to follow him and lead to the sight of the broken Witch. I inhaled sharply, almost gagging as the rusty smell of blood suddenly became profound.

Dark stains seeped into the floor and spread from the Witch's head in circular patterns, shaped like grim, inky hills painted into the carpeting, her ankle had swollen into an ugly tennis ball and the tire burns covering her lower body had become inflamed and sort of puffy looking.

She'll be feeling that when she wakes up…_if_ she wakes up.

I continued to watch as he kneeled down by her head, folding the blanket into a neat rectangle as he did. For a moment I wondered what material that blanket was made from - cotton, fleece, or nylon. Does it even matter?

He pressed the folded blanket onto the gash in her head, crossing one hand over the other, his elbows locked and leaning from the waist.

He froze as the Witch's body flinched painfully and she moaned softly, barely audible. For a moment he stalled, unsure whether of not to continue and possibly wake her up or to stop and let her bleed. He continued to press, gradually increasing the pressure…

"Becky, the Road!" said Dorothy sharply who probably hadn't heard it.

"Right, right" I muttered sheepish. I had to resist the urge to look up again. All it took was a flick of my head and I could see what was happening. For a while it was silent, the car's atmosphere had become anticipant, my head swirling with speculation. What is Scarecrow doing with the Witch? I thought. Is he making progress? I so wanted to look up, just the twitch of the eye balls -

Suddenly, there was another moan from the back – louder this time. I could hear the shuffling of cloth and Scarecrow's voice, barley audible.

"Keep still." he whispered and the Witch moaned again. I suddenly wondered how we were going to explain this to the receptionist at the hospital. I could imagine the exchange already

'_Hello, how may I help you?" the receptionist says in her polite, slightly curt way_

"_Uhhhh…we need a stretcher. We got a person in the car"_

_She looks at us suspiciously "Who is it?" she says_

"_Um…would you believe…the Witch of the West?" _That would have totally failed.

There was another moan sounding from the back – louder than before like a wail. Then came Scarecrow's voice, quite and level like he was reading a memo.

"Hush now. Don't move" he said and she wailed again, louder. I heard Dorothy whimper in the back. There was more rustling and a crackling sound like straw being shifted. Then there was something ripping like fabric, followed by a pained yell and ragged breathing and a gagging sound like she was choking. There was silence for a moment. I could feel my heart pounding into my throat as I waited for something to happen.

Shit, if she wakes up in the car -

A sudden scream that sounded horrific in the enclosed space of the car.

I visibly jumped and Dorothy joined the Witch in screaming and bolted to the front seat clutching her dog. I drove faster, not daring look into the mirror and see as the blood curdling screams continued. I could hear Scarecrow again, speaking in a series of mantras.

"Shhh stay still. Relax." his voice was rising to be heard over the screams but still maintained that same, robotic, level tone. Suddenly, there was a woman speaking

"Wha…What …d - did you do?" she said still managing to sound assertive even though her voice was strained and ragged.

Scarecrow continued with mantras "It's alright. Try to relax. Hush now." she screamed again becoming more and more desperate as her level of consciousness increased.

"You…you fiend I…I can't _breathe!"_ panted the woman followed by a fit of uncontrolled coughing and a gurgling noise.

I pressed down on the accelerator, watching the needle on the speed metre creep up to 120 km an hour. I quickly turned my eyes to the Road, squinting as yellowish afternoon sunlight streamed in through the windshield, casting a pleasant light into the car's chaotic interior. We were already driving along the edge of District 3. The hospital should be coming up any moment. I heard Scarecrow again.

"Breathe with me." he said calmly, soothingly. He breathed, slow and steadily, emphasizing each inhale. She tried to follow him, her breath becoming more ragged, more painful the slower she breathed. She screamed urgently as she could no longer bear it, sending chills up my spine. I wished she would stop. The sound was like mourning.

I wonder what the speed limit in Oz is.

"Becky is that it down yonder?" asked Dorothy anxiously, pointing toward a large, square building in the midst of houses.

"Yeah" it was the only large building I saw in this place so far. Must be it. I drove to it and stopped directly in front of the doors. It was a surprisingly simple but modern looking building. It was shaped literally like a giant, white plaster rectangle that had fallen on its side, making it longer than it was tall. Above a canopy in the centre of the building were the words NEST HARDINGS GENERAL HOSPITAL in large red, capital letters.

So this place has a name. _Nest Hardings_. Why is it called Nest Hardings anyway_?_

Another desperate scream like a reminder to hurry up.

Dorothy and I hopped out of the car, leaving Scarecrow with the Witch. I averted my eyes when I passed the back windows.

We ran hurriedly to the heavy, glass doors and decided to slow our pace, walking briskly up to the receptionist. She was on a phone – a _phone_ like one of those old ones with a dial where you spin to select the digits. To my surprise, I saw a computer on the other side of the desk, facing toward us. It wasn't anything like modern computers but like those old ones where you have a black screen and a keyboard capable of typing green, blocky text. But the screen was small – about the size of a portable DVD player while the actual computer took up almost that entire section of the desk, wires sticking up all over the place. I wasn't expecting Oz to have electronics – perhaps they've even launched a satellite recently!

The receptionist looked up when we approached the desk.

"Hello, how may I help you girls?" she said pleasantly, reminding me somewhat of Glinda

"Um…Uh well" I still hadn't figured out how to explain this. "We actually um –"

"We have a patient outside" said Dorothy beating me to it "She's mighty injured you see" Good she didn't mention the Witch part. We would most likely get told off…but happens when the paramedics arrive? How are they going to react?

The receptionist nodded, taken aback. She peered at Dorothy's traumatized face for a moment before reaching into her desk and pulling out…a _pager?_ It was a black pager with a keyboard and green screen. It was attached to a wire that led to the ground.

"What's their – _her_ condition?"

"She…" Dorothy gulped "She was …she was hit by a vehicle miss" I could tell she was trying to speak in hushed tones but the few patients in the room raised their heads and began murmuring to one another like a flock of gossipy school girls

"What kind?"

"Err…an automobile of sorts"

"Do you know if she's insured?" the receptionist stopped typing for a moment

The question surprised me for a moment. I had never thought of that - I was too busy over the Witch's physical condition; I had completely forgotten to take into account her finances. Can Witches even get jobs? I tried to imagine what that would look like. A Witch like the Witch in…in Hansel and Gretel working at a convenience store behind the cash register or as a waitress. _May I take your order sir?_ That would have looked hilarious…and so not like a Witch or is being a Witch also classified as a job? Self employed and paid by…... how do they get paid? How do they make a living?

But I really hoped she had insurance. People go bankrupt over this sort of thing…but doesn't the government pay for criminals? No wait that's for Canada but what about Oz? I hope she has insurance. If she doesn't, it'll be my fault if she goes bankrupt – and she was pissed off at me already! And on so many liable levels!

I am a dead man.

Dorothy stopped to think "I...I think…I'd assume…"

"We got no clue." I said and Dorothy sent me a pointed look.

The receptionist resumed typing for a moment, her thumbs moving rapidly across the keyboard like an experienced texter. Then she looked up.

"A crew has been sent to the front of the hospital. May I have your names?"

"Dorothy Gale – and this is Toto." she was still had that dog with her. To my great surprise the receptionist actually stood up to look over the counter, scowling. She saw the dog that yipped in response then sat back down.

"And your name?" she asked me.

"Um I'm Becky Johnson" she went to the computer thing and recorded our names, the keyboard making loud clicking noises as she typed.

"You may take a seat" she motioned to a couple of chairs spread out along the wall. Dorothy and I exchanged glances. I could imagine just sitting around in the quietness then all of a sudden have a stretcher burst through the doors, the Witch laying on it with millions of wires all over the place, a mask on her face, people shouting instructions at each other like in the movies, Scarecrow trailing behind them. That would be a bit too shocking. I'd rather see it happen gradually…or maybe I could leave…no that wouldn't be right, this was all my fault to begin with.

Why did I insist on driving in the first place? I wondered, suddenly furious at myself. I only have a learners permit – not even an actual licence! And look what happened!

"You know, I think we'll just wait outside." I said "We have a friend there."

"You want to wait for the stretcher?" she said slowly, her eyebrows raised

"Yeah, that alright?" I wonder if that might have sounded too demanding.

"Well" she seemed unable to come to a decision. "Well as long as you don't interfere" she said before returning her attention back to the computer monitor.

Dorothy and I walked back out. Even from this distance I could see Scarecrow had opened the trunk – perhaps to let some air in? I glanced at Dorothy whose face was filled with dread. I began walking forward and she was forced to follow.

We got to the car.

Before we were even there long enough to get a close look, Dorothy squealed loudly, startling me and averted her eyes before calmly walking to the front of the vehicle.

Scarecrow was kneeling over the Witch, watching her at a loss, his weird eyes displaying a surprising display of concern mixed with mild curiosity like this whole situation both alarmed him and at the same time fascinated him.

The Witch had quieted down quite a bit, her screams reduced to ragged moans and uneven, measured breaths so her ribcage expanded just enough to let air in but no so much as to cause her further pain. She was clutching at her stomach where I could see between flaps of torn shirt had gone bruised but not in blotches as is the standard patterning of bruises. Hers spread in branches or tentacles slipping, slithering between the tight space between her fleshy insides and her skin, wrapping themselves around her waist. Strange. There was also some kind of honeycomb pattern imprinted onto her lower abdomen…_is that the car radiator?_

The pretty, evening sunlight shone into the car, highlighting the differing shades of red that leaked from the Witch. There was the brown, dried up stains permanently set into the carpeting, the fresher but darker shades that oozed from open sores, her demolished, swollen ankle and still from her head that gathered into inky, dark – black blotches, the texture of thin syrup or boiled milk. Then there was the blood that gurgled from her mouth as she pressed harder on her abdomen that spewed pretty, bright reds.

Does that mean anything? Differing shades of blood? Where's the ambulance?

"There they are!" said a voice nearby. I turned and saw the ambulance crew had arrived at last. They were pushing a stretcher – a surprisingly modern stretcher. It made of a series of metal poles that attached to one another with hinges so it was flexible and resting on the metal frame was a steel platform carrying an orange, foam mat whose material had the shiny look of waterproof. Strapped on either sides of the stretcher were blue, bulky bags of medical equipment and strips of leather with buckles most likely used for restraining or keeping the patient still or something like that.

For some reason I imagined the crew members to be dressed in white shirts and pants with a white cap on their heads bearing a red cross - a stereotype basically. They had on realistic, light blue, baggy hospital scrubs and were wearing latex gloves that covered their hands like a second layer of white, powdery skin.

They stopped dead in their tracks at the sight of the Witch. I could have laughed at their shocked expressions. Kind of unprofessional but then again, this is their number one public enemy; the Wicked Witch of the West…that got hit by a car. That still sounded weird to say.

Then finally, one of them spoke.

"You" he was a young man with sandy hair cropped short and worried, icy eyes that were fixated on the Witch. He cleared his throat either to assert himself or out of trepidation - I couldn't tell. "You expect us to treat the Wicked Witch of the West?"

Yes, that is why we brought her here.

"By law you are required to treat her then turn her in." said Scarecrow. This coming from a guy without a brain!

The nurse eyed the Witch carefully. "But….but this is the Witch! She does not deserve our treatment!"

"But you care for criminals yes?"

"Well….yeah."

"How is this different?"

The nurse opened his mouth to retort but then closed it.

"But….she's awake?" he asked instead and stared at Scarecrow like he tamed a rabid lion…or maybe it was because he was conversing with a talking scarecrow but then again, the nurse probably thought he was just a guy in a costume…which is still weird.

Scarecrow nodded. "More or less" he said and the Witch made a whining noise like a wounded dog, squirming slightly in an attempt to escape the pain consuming her, veins beginning to show like bluish spider webs splayed across her face. Even when lying helpless in the back my car, she was still a chilling figure.

The nurse looked around at his companions. They seemed to lack any opinion maybe because like Scarecrow they were neutral on the matter and were indifferent as to what happened to the Witch or because their facial muscles were so stunned, they failed to show expression. He looked back at the Witch, unsure and hesitant.

"Look, we're not leaving her in the…the automobile" stated Scarecrow firmly. He seemed to be growing irritated as was I. Were they going to just stand there all day? Unprofessional.

Finally, the nurse moved forward with the stretcher and the others were forced to follow. I watched in fascination as they unlocked the hinges on the stretcher and lowered to the height of the car floor where the Witch lay. The crew members moved to hold the Witch still as others came forward with splints and bandages. They probably planned to immobilize her.

But as soon the nurses laid their hands on the Witch, her eyes snapped open and instead of backing off like I expected, the nurses quickly closed in as the Witch began to kick and flail about, yelling. There struggle as the nurses insisted to hold their ground, two hands on each limb, a nurse – the one that spoke to us holding her shoulders, shouting at the Witch to calm down as she tossed her head side to side…well at least she doesn't have a neck injury. One of the nurses ran off back to the hospital.

The nurse that spoke to us – most likely the leader of the group was shouting at the others. I couldn't exactly distinguish what he was saying although I could catch snippets the instructions. Something a trauma room, code orange, anti histones and internal bleeding, general anthesia…

The nurse that fled from the scene had returned with a device in his hand. A syringe.

He jogged over to the Witch who despite her injuries still struggled against her aids, kicking, snapping at them, blood spraying from her mouth and all over the nurses' hospital scrubs. Strong willed woman.

The nurse managed to get a hold of one of the Witch's arms and roll the sleeve up to the elbow. With his thumb on the plunger and his other hand holding down the Witch's arm, he slipped the needle into her wrist, the needle disappearing into her flesh as smooth as if he were stabbing a block of gelatine. He seemed inexperienced with this task, for the needle lingered and the Witch's eyes widened at the sudden, unfamiliar sting. The nurse pressed his thumb down on the plunger and the Witch suddenly stopped struggling, her muscles releasing as she suddenly grew quiescent, her body sinking down into the floor of the car.

The rest of the procedure was simple and quick. They wrapped her limbs in splints and bandaged them in place then wrapped a belt tightly around her hips. To avoid moving her around, they placed foam like cushions in the gaps between her arms and her torso and between her legs so she was fully immobilized. The Witched watched this process through half closed eyes, her eyes darting back and forth.

They finally got her on the stretcher, blood running off the waterproof surface. A mask was placed over the Witch's nose and mouth with an inflated, transparent bag attached to the mask that deflated whenever she breathed in and inflated when she exhaled. Her eyes closed as if she were falling asleep and her head lolled to the side.

They wheeled her away, half jogging to the side of the hospital. One of them stayed behind though with a clipboard in her hands.

"Could you state the exact events leading to this ordeal?" she asked in the polite, slightly curt tone of an inexperienced recruit "I need it on record see."

Dorothy, Scarecrow and I exchanged glances, barley concealing our shame and reluctance to speak up. I did not want to explain how I ran over the Witch because I wasn't looking at the road, then forgot to check her vitals and brought her here conscious and screaming. That just wouldn't work – I mean, I could be arrested for this!

_Wow_ I suddenly thought. Her sister's dead, I shot her eye out then ran her over…fuck I messed her up and who would have thought? I've done more damage to her than she's managed to do to me and I didn't even want to and she did! How ironic is that? That poor, unlucky, homicidal woman.

"Well um…" I was useless at this sort of thing…hah that's funny. _This sort of thing._ "What …what happened was…um…"

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	8. Chapter 8

**I just realized I totally forgot to put a disclaimer on this!...oops**

**Well here it is: I – don't – own –it. Oh yeah, and thanks for reviewing this – I honestly wasn't sure if people would read it so thanks! **

**On with it then….**

* * *

The first thing she noticed was she was warm.

She was lying in a bed with unfamiliar crisp, white sheets that were softer and seemed to be of a greater quality than what she was used to. It was dark although she was aware of a light by the side of her face that shone artificial, neon blue and irritated her eyes. She turned to face the light. It was coming from a small, glowing piece of machinery with lines moving like spiky waves that chirped a strange, even, mechanic chirp whenever the waves reached it's peaked.

_Beep…_

_Beep…_

_Beep…_

This peculiar device was attached to another machine that took up most of the space between the bed and the wall. It was blocky like cardboard boxes set on top of one another and had wires sticking up sloppily of all over the place, some leading into the bed sheets.

Yes, she was definitely warm – hot even, feeling more inflamed by the second…or perhaps it was only her increasing conscious allowing her to become more and more aware of her state. Did she even want to know? She could have lost a limb, she could be paralyzed and would have to live in a wheelchair like her sister, Nessarose –

The past events came rushing back to her like a physiological tidal wave, crashing down on her. _Nessa's death by_ _a…a house was it? Yes it was a house and there was a girl. An ignorant, reckless Halfling, who shot at me, then stole my shoes. A child assassin – who would ever suspect that? It was a set up – a perfect set up. She kills the Eminence, allowing Munchkinland to be reunited with the rest of Oz and at the same time delivers the shoes to that great tyrant of a Wizard…Glinda sent her to the Wizard – she must be in on it too!_

The sheets were trapping the heat radiating off her, creating a tent of humid, damp warmth.

She noticed there was something like a mask over her nose and mouth that seemed to push air into her lungs. It felt cool against her flushed body and smelled like clouds. She could almost hear herself breathing, sounding like a wind whistling through a crack.

_Beep…_

_Beep…_

_Beep…_

That sound was getting annoying.

She wanted to sit up and turn the thing off but she was numb, her senses fuzzy like there had been a surplus of inhibitory receptors in her brain, holding it back from functioning …as if she were very, very, _very_ drunk. But she had to be able to move, to sit up and look around and to escape if necessary. She couldn't be paralyzed could she?

She was sore. She could especially feel it around her lower ribcage, around the hips and her right ankle. There was also a faint, prickling sensation all over her stomach and legs as if ants were crawling around her, chewing off bits of skin as they went. It was uncomfortable.

She tried to sit up and had to concentrate on the specific steps in the usually automatic process.

_Start bending at the hips, use arms to support yourself…_

She found one arm to be stiff and surrounded by something hard. Using her other arm, she pushed herself up, the mask now pressing against her face uncomfortably. She lifted it off her face and immediately the air went thick and dry – not suitable or breathing. She was forced to suck air in through her mouth and exhale slowly as if her windpipe had somehow been reduced to the diameter of a straw. After a while she managed to control her breathing to a slow, laborious rhythm, each inhale stinging the back of her throat. She looked around the room but it was too dark to see anything…except the glowing monitor.

_Beep…_

_Beep…_

_Bee – _

The Witch grumbled and reached to turn it off when she noticed there was a tube imbedded in her hand, wrapped with gauze. Her gaze followed the tube up toward a stand with a transparent bag hanging from it. She could see faintly through the bluish glow that it was labelled 'dopamine' in capital, red letters. She peered at the bag for a moment. She had always known IV drips to be clear but this one had an orange tinge to it.

She suddenly became aware of muffled activity outside her room. She looked and saw a glowing line of whitish light under the door. She could hear urgent voices, see shadows of people walking by, and the rattling of trolleys. But that light seemed too bright to be candlelight or from a torch. It was too…too white and evenly distributed.

_This must one of those modern buildings with electric lighting_ or was electricity more common nowadays? She didn't know; she had been out of touch for so long. The she coughed. Just one cough or was there another? Perhaps she just swallowed wrong but her throat felt itchy. She swallowed and felt a slight lump on one side of her throat near the trachea as if the area had become inflamed. It stung when she swallowed.

There were suddenly footsteps approaching the door. The person opened the door, artificial, white light flooding the room then closed the door behind him. He flicked a switch and the room lit up, flares of white light burning her eye. She blinked for a moment, her eye stinging and squinted at the figure, realizing at that moment her other eye was covered.

She saw through a film of blaring whiteness a man dressed in a long, white lab coat, carrying a file under his arm and had what looked to be a stethoscope around his neck. He wasn't all that old really – around her own age, maybe a year or two her senior.

She blinked again and saw his green, brooding eyes staring at her, trying to conceal his shock. He ran a hand through his black, spiky hair and tried to smile friendlily at her but failed. He just looked even more nervous than he already appeared to be.

The Witch tried to compose herself, sucking air in through her nose. It didn't work. She grabbed the mask and held it up to her face.

"Err…hello" said the man finally. "I am Dr Fitz Morrible."

She gasped, sucking in a mouthful of air, causing her to choke, sending some of it up her nose. She dropped the mask started a coughing fit into her sleeve, her ribs protesting loudly. She hunched over, clutching her side, her face turning an impressive shade of forest green. Dr. Fitz Morrible calmly walked toward her, set his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her torso back so she was sitting upright. But she continued to cough into her sleeve, the hot, thick air choking her. He brought the mask to her face and she continued to cough for a moment but then settled, breathing raggedly. Then she suddenly jerked away from him.

She looked up at him and decided she couldn't see much resemblance but then again, Madame Morrible looked like a fish - a _fish! _But they had similar green, almond shaped eyes although his didn't bulge out like a carp and they had the same sharp brow but on him, it looked far better and gave him a sort of intense look.

_You're in relation to Madame Morrible! You're working with the Wizard aren't you – you must be the other adept! Nessarose, Glinda, then you! Or did they send you here to kill me?_

"You…"Her tongue had become a useless slab of meat stuck in her mouth. "You're…you're Morrible!" was all she managed to her mortification.

The man suddenly looked tired "I believe you're referring to Madame Morrible. I am merely a doctor"


	9. Chapter 9

_Don't run. Never run_ thought Dr. Fitz Morrible as he walked briskly down the hall toward the Witch's room. He had to keep himself from breaking into a jog and tried to keep in pace with the clock ticks.

_Tick…_

_Tick…_

_Tick…_

The clocks continued, nagging him to keep in pace.

He found he didn't like this section of the hospital. They had always kept it too cool and he could feel his fingertips freezing, the feeling creeping up into his hands. He glanced over the Witch's file, shuddering slightly at the notion of having to treat her. He could imagine her already.

A demented old hag cackling madly as she dances about by a cauldron or on a broomstick, terrorizing the population. She's a green, shrivelled prune of a woman, looking as if her fluids really did dry up with age but being of a medical mind, he knew of course that was impossible - no matter what his senile, old aunt said. She would be dead before that happened…or _should _be.

He grimaced at the thought. That was just too creepy.

_But wouldn't riding on a broom stick be bad for your back? The way you'd have to hunch over._

He turned his attention to her profile. It barley even took up a page – the shortest profile he had ever been given.

NAME: N/A

GENDER: F

AGE: N/A

_Never form judgement on patients _he remembered being taught suddenly._ They are merely objects of need and you are meant to be of service to them. Opinions affect your performance_. But of course, it was too late for that.

RESIDENCE: Kiamo Ko, Upper Vinkus, M2L 4F2

EMPLOYEMENT: N/A

INSURANCE: N/A

_She has no insurance? That's terrible. This could cost a fortune!_

ABSTRACT: According to eyewitnesses was struck by a large automobile. Was submitted to ER 06/12/2010 with severe internal and external injuries *see following page for description*

He turned the page for the description and skimmed over it for review. Her injuries were fairly standard for someone in a hit and run accident.

A shattered pelvis – type C (rotationally and vertically unstable), a shin reduced to splinters and that seemed to have been snapped inward with full displacement, the tendons in the area barely intact, ribs 6 through 12 on either side of her torso had been obliterated into segments, tearing into her spleen and stomach and poking into her lungs, her forearm was fractured in 3 places while the deltoid ligament in her ankle had been ripped apart. She had abrasions all over her lower body and somehow had grade 4 hyphema. She also seemed to also have hit her head fairly hard for there had been some brain swelling and he had been instructed to leave a bottle of morphine pills for headaches and any other kind of discomfort she might experience.

He remembered looking over records of her recovery and how that she recovered way faster than a normal person, her bones rebuilding themselves, tissue growing and reassembling, making noticeable process within hours. And strangely, the surgery seemed to have happened without an issue. Things always go wrong during procedures but this time it went perfectly according to plan. Well, she is a Witch and extremely lucky. A large amount of bone marrow had gotten into her blood stream, clogging arteries and she almost died of a heart attack.

He lifted the pills out of his coat pocket for a moment.

He peered at them curiously. They were packaged in a standard enough bottle - transparent orange with a label taped to it. But the pills were different than the morphine pills he had seen in the past. The ones he had seen were blue tablets and these were jelly filled capsules coloured bright orange.

_Perhaps there was a mistake._ He thought. _I'll have to check on that._

He looked up and walked up to the Witch's room and for a moment tried to imagine what she what look like – the most feared or at least speculated creature in Oz lying sick in her bed like some old sickly woman in a retirement home…nope couldn't picture it.

He flicked on the light switch, anticipation filling his core, swirling with fear and curiosity… then he nearly screamed in surprise, jumping backward and into the door. The Witch was awake and sitting up, the oxygen mask lying beside her.

_How the hell is she sitting up? She was hit by an automobile two weeks ago! _

But it wasn't just the fact that she was awake that startled him. The Wicked Witch of the West was so…so _young. _She was barley his age and he was 40. She wasn't at all like he imagined. Her skin was green but not like the sick color he expected. It was the green of grass or new spring leaves – not an ugly color but an eerie one that gave her an elfish look. He could only stare at her in shock for a moment and she stared back at him, her normal, brown eye squinting at him.

She was basically a youngish green woman with sharp features – a far cry from the shrivelled, old hag he imagined her to be.

She brought the mask to her face to his relief. Her file stated that they had mixed the oxygen with nitrous oxide to dull any pain she might experience if she woke up…and to make her more docile.

"Err…hello" he said, running a hand through his hair nervously and tried to smile but it felt lopsided. He felt like a veterinarian assigned to treat an untamed lion with a broken leg. How was he going to manage this without getting hexed or terribly scarred in some way? Every move had to be measured and precise, everything said had to be carefully analyzed for any misstep could mean the end of him. "I am Dr Fitz Morrible" he tried to say it in a tone that sounded official - the way he might introduce himself to the head. _I am Dr Fitz Morrible sir._ For it implied respectfulness.

But at the sound of his name, the Witch looked shocked and she began choking on the flow of oxygen, hunched over, her face flushing. Perplexed, he walked over to her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

_She's just a patient like everyone else in this facility like a lion is just another species of cat…that could kill you…_

He noticed as soon as he touched her that she was hot. There was heat radiating off her, seeping into the palms of his hands. Then he remembered, the record stated that she had developed a bit of a fever soon after treatment…and now he'll be required to check up on it.

The Witch was still coughing into her sleeve, wincing. He pushed her torso up so her lungs could expand. She winced as she coughed and he wasn't surprised – she had broken a number of ribs and they hadn't fully healed yet. He brought the mask to her face and watched her struggling to catch her breath .But then she suddenly jerked away from him, banging into the headboard of the bed.

"You…you're Morrible!" she exclaimed, her voice dulled by the mask over her face.

_Oh not this again - of all people!_

He had always found it irritating and sort of degrading to have people – strangers suddenly regard him of importance on behalf of his aunt. It stole his individuality and often he became referred to as 'Morrible's nephew - in fact, this was why he was assigned this case of caring for the Wicked Witch.

"I believe you are referring to Madame Morrible." he didn't say 'my aunt' "I am merely a doctor."

He stood and sat down again at the foot of the bed, opening to a new record sheet. _Always sit with the patient on a chair or at the bed_ he was taught._ It helps to induce the perception of time and makes it seem you've been with them longer and that you care_. He preferred the bed because that is where everyone's parents once sat to interrogate they're offspring. _Where is it sore dear? _they'd ask. He wondered vaguely if this was the case for the Witch for she was glaring at him.

"Now, I know this must be rather confusing for you." He decided to go for a sympathetic approach. "Do you know why you're here?" _speak slowly for it transcends both intellectual incapabilities and agitation – both medical perils._

The Witch removed the mask. He'd make a note for them to switch to a cannula type although her breathing seemed to have improved immensely. It looked smoother and somewhat even but it was also a tad shallow. She probably didn't even need oxygen.

"I…no. No I don't recall being involved in any sort of…incident."

He noted it down and noticed the Witch had wrapped an arm around her waist and had placed a hand on her lower ribcage. _Should I tell her about the accident now and be over with it? Or will it be too much of a shock? Can a Witch even be shocked at anything or is it not within their emotional capacity?_ He decided to leave it for now.

_Speak slowly _"How – are – you – feeling?"

The Witch's glare on him intensified. "Do I appear deaf to you?" she demanded, cringing.

"No, no not at all. So how are you?"

"I'm fine."

He raised his brow at her. "You're _fine._" _You were road kill two weeks ago and now you're sitting in a hospital bed with a fever, broken bones and open lesions all over you and you're trying to tell me that you're fine. _

She nodded. "That's what I said Doctor."

"Well we'll see." he noticed her eyes or _eye _was sunken and she was swallowing constantly as if trying to get rid of something in her throat. It was strange to see her like this. She seemed not the type to end up so frail. He leaned to put down his folder on a chair by the bed then stood up and moved to the other end of the bed where the Witch sat, eyeing him as if intending to pin him to the ground with the force of her gaze, making him all the more jittery.

"Wha…what do you think you're doing? She demanded although her voice some of its edge. She sounded more anxious than anything else.

"I am going to do physical examination – just to check up." _Friendly assertiveness._ "Now lie down" The Witch turned hostile and snarled at him like a frightened animal.

"Don't touch me." she said, her voice low and steely like a worried lion or Lion growling at a hunter…..like she was suffering from hypervigilance.

"Lie down." he tried again. _During a situation, pretend your instruction is enough to control it. Panic is contagious as is calmness_ he was taught.

"You…You're in relation to Madame Morrible." she swallowed. "I assume you're aware of our…our predicament"

_Ah yes - the Great and Terrible Wicked Witch of the West as my aunt is so fond of saying. An enemy of Oz and that bloody tyrant of a Wizard. The two of you are arch enemies._

Instead he merely nodded and the Witch continued.

"You and…and Madame Morrible must have contacts so." She stopped to swallow. "How… how am I to know you won't try something on behalf of your…?

"She's my aunt and if I tried something on a patient – even a criminal, I'd be fired on the spot then arrested most likely."

The Witch was losing energy and was slumped against the headboard, leaning heavily on her intact arm to keep herself up, giving her a crooked look.

"You…you aren't…" she was faltering and he decided to use this to his advantage.

"Miss, lie down" _And for Lurine's sake stay that way. People say the Witch is crazy. Maybe she's just paranoid, sufferning from hypervigilance. _She was certainly showing all the signs

"But…you…"

He grabbed the mask by her side and held it up to her face, hoping the drugs might subdue her further. She shrieked in surprise and tried to pull away, turning her head to the side like a stubborn child but then went slack, too tired to resist further. He gently guided her down onto the bed, her body heavy with dead weight. She was definitely hot - and dry too… maybe she's suffering a heat stroke. He'd have to prescribe a saline drip in that case.

He glanced up at the IV and saw it had a slight orange tinge to it.

_I prescribed dopamine. What did they put in it?_ He'd have to check later along with the funny, orange pills.

He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a pair of latex gloves and snapped them on. He began to examine the Witch top to bottom, keeping in mind that _she is just a patient. _He slipped his hand underneath her white, hospital shirt, her body burning against his already frosty fingertips. She squirmed, moaning in protest as he placed a hand on her sternum, feeling for any uneven or asymmetrical movement as she breathed. Nothing.

"Take a deep breath." he instructed and she obliged, finally giving in, her muscles shifting to expose the shape of her ribs. He could distinctly feel the outline of her ribcage from where it connected to her sternum to her side. Under normal circumstances, this area is usually shaped like a lower case j minus the dot but with her, it was like a j with a slight, sunken dent - nothing too severe. He slid his hand up to feel the individual ribs, using his fingers to gently trace their crooked outlines.

"Pain anywhere?" he asked and she mumbled inaudibly in reply, her voice dulled by the mask. He moved his hand down the curve of her ribs and further down her torso to the abdomen, causing her to bristle reflexively, the muscles tensing and causing her to arch her back. He had always thought of this area as a soft, malleable area set between the hard, bony chest and pelvis for the purpose of allowing the torso to bend and torque, acting as a sort of specially designed joint. It was funny how this area contained some of the most vital organs in the body like the stomach, intestines, spleen and yet it was left with only fat and muscle to protect it.

He rolled his hand across her surprisingly flat, bandaged stomach, dividing it into four sections; upper left and right, lower left and right, feeling for any dense areas or any other kinds of disfigurement. As his fingers dipped slightly below the hem of her pants, he felt an odd scar between the hip joints, the skin bunched into a fairly thin, straight, horizontal line about five inches long. It could have been from a number of things, Fitz decided. The slash of a knife perhaps? But the scar was too neat, too straight for that. It could have been from a skimmed bullet or from an initiation…or from a scalpel.

_Now don't be jumping to conclusions, Fitz. _

But the scar was set in the exact area, had the exact alignment and had the exact straight, neatness of a cut initiated by a scalpel… but it couldn't be! The very thought was beyond ridiculous, beyond laughable but the evidence was there.

_But she couldn't have gone through a surgical birth. The Wicked Witch of the West can't possibly be the mother of a child; she's a WITCH! And whoever could the father be? _

He withdrew his hand, his face hot. Should he report this? What would he say? Or maybe it was just a coincidence the scar was set in the exact same position as a surgical birth scar. It could have been from an initiation of some sort – there's no evidence to prove otherwise but couldn't that go both ways? There's no evidence to prove that she didn't have a child...but she's a Wicked Witch - _The _Wicked Witch!

Fitz stared at the woman before him; she is a woman isn't she? And women are capable of conceiving and bearing children although he could not imagine how _that_ happened in this case and he didn't want to.

"Miss?" he was not sure why he was addressing her. He had no intention asking – he had neither the courage nor the stupidity and what would he say? _Miss, I was wondering, do you have a child? Is he or she green?_

She made no response and remained motionless, her eyes closed, her head lolled to the side and sinking into the pillow. Fitz marvelled how normal she looked when at rest; the long, surprisingly feminine neck – elegant actually, the protruding roundness of the collar bones, the flat smoothness of the sternum that led beneath the white hospital shirt. It was almost endearing in her own, peculiar way - free from the hard glares and rages that overtook her while awake. More like a woman and less like a Witch. Fitz leaned back, relaxing his back and peeled off his gloves, turning them inside out. There was so much to speculate which only ever brought him to theories – theories that were sometimes more logical than the actual truth but theories just the same. Wrong or inaccurate.

He jotted down his observations – not mentioning the scar for he was still unsure what to make of it. He got up and pulled the sheets up to her neck then grabbed his folder before heading out the door, flicking the lights off.

He stood in the hall for a moment, relieved to have gotten over the check up…for now. But at the same time, he felt oddly proud of his predicament – he had just dealt with the Wicked Witch of the West! The most feared and powerful creature in all of Oz! The glory! When this is done.

He was about go write up his report when a voice called for him.

"Dr. F?" It was a newbie dressed in a green hospital scrub.

"Uh yes?"

"There's a call for you." she replied. "Line one. Probably a patient"

"Oh great, thanks."

He made his way to the records archive where he asked the front desk to use the phone and to submit his was handed the phone and carried the whole machine to the other side of the desk as far as the cord would allow.

"Nest Hardings General Hospital – Dr Fitz Morrible speaking" he decided on a formal greeting because if it's a client calling, formal is polite and if its not, the worst impression somebody can get is that you're a tad cold.

"Fitzgerald, this is your aunt Morrible" she sounded gruff over the telephone and it was difficult to distinguish the tone of her voice which was a great inconvenience.

"Oh." _Damn it!" _You have a medical problem?"

"Don't you start getting fresh with me young man. Have you heard about the accident involving the Wicked Witch and the newcomers? You must have, it's been two weeks"

"Um yeah…hit by a large automobile right?" _In medicine, we are taught to remain calm and neutral while facing calamity. _Thank Oz for that.

"Now it is my understanding that the Witch is currently staying at Nest Hardings – the hospital you work at right?"

He could have lied but figured that if Morrible found out (which was likely), it would be utter chaos for him…and for the hospital.

"Yeah. Yeah she is."

He heard her swear off the phone, her voice dull. "Now Fitz, you make sure you stay away. The Witch is a dangerous criminal and there's no telling what she'd do. So stay away, hear?

"Well I try my best."_ 'There's no telling what she'd do.' _She fell asleep!

"I'm serious! You are my nephew and I don't want you associating yourself with the Witch – she's an enemy to all of Oz!"

Normally he would have just agreed politely and gotten over with it but old, adolescent defiance sprung up at the least expected moment.

"Well if I didn't know you so well, I'd think you're _concerned._" He scoffed teasingly, grinning to himself.

"Be serious for once will you? I've made myself clear haven't I?"

"Yes - number of times."

"Good. I don't want to be hearing any trouble from you."

"Auntie, I'm a professional. I'd be fired by the time you heard any trouble from me.

There was a pause. "Fine then, carry on." She hung up.

Fitz found himself unable to decide whether to burst out in hysterical laughter or to panic at the thought of Morrible finding out. He could imagine her, her goldfish eyes bulging out of her head, her face beet red and her hair all over the place as if she suffered an electric shock, her designer shoes flailing in the air as she danced about in a fit of rage…..then she dies of a heart attack.

Fitz scoffed, his lip curling up in smirk.

What utter chaos it would be if she knew...

**Please review!**

**Sorry if the story seems a bit slow for now. It'll pick up in a bit...**


	10. Chapter 10

Oz was in an uproar of both excitement and rage.

News had spread like fire of the accident and how the Witch was now staying at Nest Hardings General Hospital. Nest Hardings was not at all pleased for there was talk everywhere of new security measures in homes, schools and office buildings as if the Witch were likely to show up any time and wreak havoc although it was difficult to see how this was possible with her injuries. The papers were like daily reports of the Witch's wicked talents of corruption. If there was a failed business or if stocks decreased or if a child grew ill, it was all due to the Witch.

I tried to imagine her.

_She's on a hospital cot with white sheets in nice looking room – like a hotel room with hardwood flooring, a small, stainless steel table by her bed bearing a plastic cup of water and a lit lamp, its reflection casting a pleasant, melon light over the bed and fading outward into blackness. The Witch is half sitting up, leaning on a bunch of pillows with her hands crossed behind her head and with her knees bent in a carefree looking manner. She is tired but comfortable. _

I can't seem to picture her without her hat - the universal symbol of a Witch; the black cone shaped hat. Without it, they no longer play the part in my mind.

_She has her hat tucked down to block out the light from the lamp, casting a black shadow over her face, her nose poking out into the light like a fungus. She is muttering unintelligible long distance spells, her voice barely audible and husky with sleepiness…._

"Becky?" said Dorothy sitting at the foot of the bed. We were staying at a hotel while my car was being cleaned by biohazard disposal people which Scarecrow was paying for. He had been a farmhand as well as a Scarecrow.

"Yeah?"

"D' you think the Witch is alright?"

There were a number of ways I could have answered.

"_D' you think the Witch is alright?"_

"_No."_

Or.

"_D' you think the Witch is alright?"_

"_If she's alright, she would have come after us already."_

It was actually quite scary knowing that. I had no way knowing when the Witch would gather enough strength to seek vengeance…which is inevitable. I felt a shiver run through my spine. This thought had been running through my mind for the past two weeks now, mana_g_ing to frighten my out of getting a decent sleep or walking the streets in the evening. Every set of footsteps of a Munchkin walking up behind me became the Witch rushing in to grab me, every creak or tap of the walls expanding became the Witch's magic and every time I got up out of bed at night, I couldn't help but to imagine the Witch jumping out of the bathroom or appearing at the window, her face pale, her not damaged eye staring at me, lacking the human understanding and aliveness - just a dead, conceptual eyeball looking at me, the whites glinting in the moonlight and making a scarily bold contrast against her green face…like she died and became a zombie or something.

I wasn't sure if my fears were completely ridiculous for everyone seemed to be on their toes.

But then again, it would be a relief in a way to know that she's alright. I could never forgive myself if she died or ended up terribly scarred in some way….. is that even possible for a Witch?

"So d' you think she's alright?" asked Dorothy.

I paused to think, subconsciously bringing my hand up to cover my mouth. I stayed like that for a moment, in a pose of speculation then flicked my eyes over to Dorothy and shrugged, unable to decide how to respond in a way that wouldn't freak her out.

"Gosh, you're carefree." she said.

At that moment, the door opened and Scarecrow walked in. Scarecrow was a mystery to me – full of contradictions. There was usually a kind of sullen air to him - the formality in his speech, the reservation and calmness that seemed to radiate off him…but then he'd suddenly lighten up and crack a joke or tease us, grinning and exposing his shiny teeth that were actually white and not bits of wood like I imagined.

He strode into the room and greeted Dorothy and I with a nod before settling on a chair by the window. He pulled out a rolled up newspaper from within his jacket and began to scan its pages, reading the headlines.

He looked kind of funny like this. His scarecrow cloths had to be discarded as the blood stains could not be washed out and he was now dressed in dark, bluish blackish trousers made from a slightly softer material than jeans, a white collared shirt, and a black jacket/blazer thing which he got at a jumble sale. But the funny thing was that he was able to keep his hat which made him look like parody of a scarecrow.

Dorothy and I exchanged glances for no particular reason and lay back down on the bed. It was amazing how _boring_ it could get here. I mean this is a foreign, fairy tale world I'm stuck in! You'd think that would be exiting…but then again, this is the suburbs.

"There's a protest at the hospital." said Scarecrow, breaking the silence. Dorothy and I immediately perked up at the prospect of something entertaining. "Want to take a look?"

A protest! I thought. Look at all the commotion I'm causing.

"Oh I'd like to go." said Dorothy "May we?"

"Alright then." said Scarecrow smiling slightly and reached into the bag he was carrying. "I got you and Becky these hats. I thought it might help to disguise ourselves a bit." So I'm not the only one that's bored.

"Oh yeah, thanks."

We had been getting a lot of media attention ever since we got here, especially since we had Scarecrow with us. He seemed to be quite well known around here, with him being a living Scarecrow and all that. Reporters with hugest the microphones would constantly pop up out of nowhere, demanded details on how the Scarecrow and his crew _defeated_ the Wicked Witch, how we feel about her being treated after we supposedly worked to kill her, and most of all about how my car stereo system works. It was annoying as hell. One reporter would show up then the next thing I know, I'd be surrounded and I'm terrible at public speaking. The first time I was approached, I stuttered the whole way and the second time I had to yell at them to piss off. I honestly didn't want to talk about it.

I peered at the hat Scarecrow had given me with awe. It had a large, circular cover and an unusually wide, flat peak with pinstripes running down the sides with some sort of diamond shaped logo at the front. It looked exactly like those hip hop hats that teenage boys like to wear. Dorothy was turning her hat around in her hands.

"Why, what a peculiar hat." she said to my surprise. I know she's from Kansas but she must have at least _heard_ or seen off the internet stuff like this - after all, she chose to listen to _3OH!3_ on the way here. That girl amazes me sometimes.

"They've been getting quite popular recently." said Scarecrow. "Oz knows how they ended up in a jumble sale."

We headed out with our hats pulled down over our faces. Dorothy looked absolutely hilarious. A twelve year old girl with pigtails in a 1920s styled checkered dress over a white blouse, vintage leather shoes, carrying a wicker basket and she's wearing a black hip hop hat with pinstripes. The two styles clashed terribly.

We walked down toward the hospital, keeping our heads tucked down casually as not to look shifty and so that I wouldn't bust out laughing at the sight of Dorothy. Come to think of it, I didn't really want to go look at the protest. I wanted to stay as far away from all this as possible and just forget what happened to be honest.

"Would you look at that!" exclaimed Dorothy as we approached the scene. We were at least a block away and we could already hear shouts of protestors and see a bit of the mob. We walked closer, our steps becoming more and more hesitant as we neared the hospital. We watched the commotion from across the street. Citizens of all ages filled the entire front lot of the hospital, pumping signs in the air with simple headings like: KILL THE WITCH, LET HUMANITY LIVEin black marker or LET EVIL BE ABOLISHED. There were those pesky reporters everywhere, shoving their microphones at people who seemed all too happy to oblige and sound their opinions with cameras flashing in their faces.

"Hey look!" said Scarecrow and excitedly pointed at a group farther off to the side.

I looked and saw they appeared to be a separate group from the rest of protestors. They looked to be a bunch of religious zealots shouting out their opinions of the Witch and some god – the Unnamed God it sounded like. But it wasn't that that was exiting. One of them – an older man with a potato shaped head in a hooded jacket had seized a microphone then hopped onto the flat hood of a parked automobile and had started speaking, waving a poster of a religious figure at the crowd.

"CITIZENS OF NEST HARDINGS!" he boomed, his voice echoing loudly throughout the crowd…..that's a good microphone. "IS THIS WHAT WE HAVE SUCCUMBED TO? HAVE WE BECOME SO DESPERATE THAT WE DO FAVORS FOR _WITCHES?_" the man's face had gone red with passion to my mild amusement.

"THE WITCH – A COLLABERATOR WITH THE DEVIL, PERFORMER OF MAGICK OF ALL THINGS!" he had his poster faced toward the crowd. Like all religious figures, the character on the poster had a sullen look to him. It was an old, skinny man dressed in a long black robe with a sort of wooden charm tied to the waist. The artist had painted the figure against a grimy, greyish back color that seemed to emphasize the subject's cold, blue face painted in a permanent scowl, the jaw set and highlighting the shadowy, sunken cheeks, his brow spiky and casting shadows over the eyes. I stared at the figure. It's expression seemed almost to be one of disappointment or accusation or…. _judgement._

Judgement for the sins mankind has committed and have yet to commit…maybe, I don't know.

"THE WITCH HAS SINNED REMORSELESSLY – "

"Do you believe in all that stuff, Scarecrow?" I said before I realized it.

"What stuff?"

"That." I nodded toward the ranting priest. "Bout like…..sins and….hell and….guilt and all of that."

"Well I -" Scarecrow glanced down at me with his eyes narrowed in an expression I couldn't read. Then he looked up again. "I …well…."

"Do you?"

"WE ARE SPENDING OUR RESOURCES ONA _DEMON!"_

"No." said Scarecrow.

The man on the poster glowered in my direction, his expression remorseful, disappointed and seemingly judgemental as if he could see right through me, causing me to wither internally at the exposure.

"You feel rather guilty about all this don't you?" said an elderly voice.

"_HOLY FRIGGIN–" _

My heart exploded at the shock and I instinctively whipped around to face my accuser, half expecting to see the man on the poster standing in front of me, looming over me to judge my crimes. But luckily that wasn't the case. It was _him_ again. He was dressed in the same black cloak and leggings he wore when I first saw him although he was no longer carrying his bag. He had his hands at his sides, the fingers twitching as if longing to take action of some sort. Up close I could see that he was about my height and that his skin was pale and highlighted his eyes that seemed to have sunk into their sockets, causing them to narrow permanently while his brow furrowed and his greyish lips pinched themselves into a thin, menacing line. This time I knew for sure - it was a look of cold, utter resentment but why? What relation do I have with this man that causes him to hate me so much?

I racked my brains, trying to remember the name I saw – most likely his name. I remember it sounded English, something like Fredrick or Franklin – something with an F… _Frexpar_. Yes, that was it. Frexpar Thropp.

"Well, don't you?" Frexpar growled, his voice low and steely, reminding me of the Witch.

My mind was stunned into blankness and I couldn't think to formulate a suitable answer. So I kept my mouth shut.

The man – Frexpar then brushed past me, without a further word and stomped off, his steps heavy as if he intended to punch holes into the ground with the soles of his feet.

I started after him, filled with wonder and sudden rising fear.

Who _is _that man?


	11. Chapter 11

She could not remember anything.

The doctor – Morrible said that the incident was being suppressed in her mind because it was such an unpleasant event, that her brain decided she would be better off if she did not remember it…..or at least that was one way of putting it. The Witch remembered from decades ago, Elphaba's life sciences course where this condition was once mentioned. It was known as amnesia or in this case (according to Dr. Morrible) _retrograde _amnesia.

She hated being bedridden like an invalid….which technically she was. The clock was ticking, each _tick_ a second lost forever – so much time wasted….but then again, she didn't have much left to do. Nor, Irji, Sarima and her sisters were surely dead for it had _years_ and nobody could survive in Southstairs that long; her plan to bring them back had been a failure as was her efforts to be forgiven. But perhaps in the afterlife…..

"_For one thing, that's where Fiyero is waiting for me. And you know it."_

Well then, perhaps salvation no longer required forgiveness – since they were together now. Elphaba groaned and shifted to her side, pulling the sheets with her and burying her face within its folds to suppress the sudden ache in her heart.

The afterlife must have been one of the most ridiculous concepts ever. In the beginning, one starts off pristine with equal potential, and then they are born and stray away from being equal, develop personalities, imperfections and perfections….then they die and fall back into line with the same, pristine, equalness – a release from the corruption that comes with life. So what's the point you're just going to live all over again? And for _eternity._

_They say life is cruel _thought Elphaba._ But the afterlife is crueller._ But in her case, it was extreme.

It was then she realized with horror and despair that she had no where to go. Elphaba had never been a person to appreciate sympathy but lying in a hospital bed, recovering from a hit and run accident soon after the sudden death of her sister, she found that she would have liked to have someone who cared for her but any possibilities for that had died, betrayed her or simply couldn't care less. She was unemployed and being a Witch, welfare wasn't even an option so she had no income and was living in her dead lover's home (how sad is that?) with no plans for a future.

Her life was in ruins and death held no salvation – she was stuck.

Elphaba curled up on herself and pressed the sheets against her eyes, for the first time wallowing in self pity. Then she heard the door click open and footsteps toward the bed until she was aware of his presence looming over her.

"Miss?" when she refused to respond, he reached out and gently shook her shoulder. She groaned and hauled herself out of the bed sheets, sitting up and staring up at Dr. Morrible irritably, reminding him of an annoyed cat.

"What?" she said flatly, not in the mood for another check up.

Morrible's face made no reaction and he calmly took his folder from under his arm and flicked to a new sheet before placing it on the table by her bed.

"I'm simply checking up." he said evenly and sat down at on the chair facing her bed. Then he glanced up and peered at her, forming a quizzical expression. "Your eyes look red." he said and she shrugged.

"How many times are you doctors required to check up?"

"However many times you need it." he said lightly and turned his attention to a kind of rounded, triangular device he had been holding, making sure the wire hanging off it wasn't touching the ground.

"What's that?" she couldn't help but to be curios for she had been living in the Vinkus for eight years now and before that, at the Cloister of St Glinda. Besides during her early years in the resistance, she had almost zero exposure to any technology.

"A spirometre - to see if your lungs are working." he fiddled around with the device for a moment, making those strange beeping noises. "Uh how old are you?"

"Why in Oz do you need to know that?"

"I need the measurements" he explained, showing no signs of being annoyed as he was required, in fact he seemed almost amused. The Witch, satisfied with his explanation had been unprepared to answer any personal questions and had to think to remember. She was eighteen when she left Shiz, spent six years at the Resistance, another six years at the Cloister of St Glinda, eight at Kiamo Ko….

"I'm….I'm 38."

He entered the figure, his brow raised. "How tall are you?"

"5' 7."

"Have you ever smoked or suffered from asthma?"

"No."

He entered the figures then walked over to the slits in the wall and pushed in the end of the wire that was shaped squarely and had thin bits of metal sticking protruding from it. He sat back down on the bed, pulling out a tube thing from his coat pocket that was wrapped in clear plastic. The Witch watched, fascinated as he undid the wrapping and pushed the tube into a hole in the device before handing it to her. She received the device, feeling the strange smoothness of the edges and the heavy bulk of it. The surface was decorated with numerous buttons and had greenish screen.

"So what you do." Morrible was saying. "Is inhale to the max then exhale _completely_ into the mouthpiece – and uh…."he fished in his pockets and pulled out a blue nose clip. "Put this on."

She obliged, feeling a little foolish with a rubber clip clamped on her nose and looked up at Morrible for notification thatshe could start. He nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching discreetly.

"Go ahead."

She inhaled until she felt her breath stop in the bottom of her throat then brought the pinched in end of the tube to her mouth and exhaled, the device beeping rapidly and slowing as she ran out of breath.

"Keep going, keep going….."

She could feel her face flushing and she struggled to continue….

"You can stop now."

She inhaled deeply, her head suddenly floaty as if her brain had left her head, causing it to become empty and for her mind to evaporate. She handed him back the device and he took it, peering at the screen and frowning slightly.

"Once more." he said. "And this time focus more on exhaling as fast as you can in the first second." he looked up at her when he was done resetting the device. "I'm guessing you'd like a break."

"Yes." She closed her eyes to rid of the light headedness. Then she opened them, her eyes widened at the sight and she blinked rapidly in disbelief, her mind stunned into blankness. Morrible looked over his shoulder at the area of thin air she was staring at.

"You alright?" he asked, his eyes narrowed.

The Witch could hardly believe it – she _couldn't _believe it. There standing in the middle of the room was _her_ - a little green girl about 8 years old or so wearing a plain, black frock and an expression far too sullen for a child of that age, her brown eyes wide, innocent but at the same time cold. The Witch suddenly remembered her relatives – her mother in particular telling her not t o stare for she tended to scare people with the intensity of her gaze. Now she saw what they meant, she was literally seeing it.

Young Elphaba cocked her head at her older self.

"_What are you doing?"_ she said in an accusing, remorseful tone which sounded strange being said in a little girl's voice. A little girl watching her older counterpart and is disappointed with how she is destined to turn out. The Witch could only stare, wide eyed, her mind still blank from the shock and all she could think was _what the hell? _Dr. Morrible peered over his shoulder, his face with filled concern and curiosity. There was nothing but thin air.

She couldn't be hallucinating could she? He thought, horrified at the realization. They'd have to keep her in if that were the case for tests, treatment, and therapy - he could be stuck with her for months, even years!

"Uh miss?"

She snapped to attention, inhaling when she realized she ad been holding her breath. "Yes, yeah?"

He looked at her curiously, dreadfully. "Did you see something?"

"Well it's…" she looked over his shoulder and saw the space, heavy with emptiness. She blinked, utterly at a loss. "Um no." she said slowly. "No it's nothing."

"Okay then."_ What would happen if I let this go? Wait no, I should run the scan – I have to…..but hell, this is the Witch, her head's already messed up._ He picked up his folder and absentmindedly flicked through the pages, just to occupy his hands while he let his intentions swirl around his core, attempting to dominate one another until he came to a decision. "I'm going to send you through a scan." he finally decided. "For your brain."

"What's wrong with my brain?"

"Well, it's possible that…." _You're going through a first break psychosis. "_That when you smacked your head, your brain could have suffered some long term damage." _Why can't we just tell patients the truth instead of weaving around it? They always figure it out in the end that it's all bullshit… but then what would I say? You're probably psychotic and I have to run a scan to make sure? She'd kill me – she's probably criminally insane being the Witch and all that. _

"…I always thought IV drips were clear." the Witch was saying.

"Hmm, the IV?" _how did we end up talking about that?_

"It's….orange."

"Yes, it's a new um thing they're doing – its all for the better." He looked down before the Witch could retort and hastily reset the spirometre. "Try this again." he said and handed the device to her. She took it and breathed into the mouth piece, causing the device to beep rapidly.

"Keep going, keep going…..stop" she gasped for breath, her face flushed a brilliant green. He took the device and saw that this try had been successful.

It's good. I'll have the results by tomorrow" he had a nagging inkling that he was forgetting something, leaving him with a hollow feeling. He was meant to give her something…..the pills! "Oh yeah." said Dr. Morrible and he reached into his pocket. "These are for any pain you might experience; take two a day at the most."

The Witch received the container and proceeded to unscrew the lid and peer at its contents.

"What are these?"

"Morphine."

The Witch scowled in confusion. "Aren't morphine tablets blue?

_Shit._ "Yes but these are new."

To his relief she didn't press the subject further set the container under the table lamp. _Nobody question's doctors_ he realized. _Not even the Witch._

"How's your energy level?" he was required to ask.

"You asked me that yesterday." she said lightly….almost jokingly.

Fitz smirked at her sarcastic sense of humour, his lip curling and exposing the tip of his laterals, giving him a boyish, playful look.

"Well get some rest then."

Morrible thought back at his previous perception of the Wicked Witch, amused at his misconception. To think he had thought her filthy, scrawny old hag like the Witches in the picture books of his childhood – cackling madly and terrorizing the population for no particular reason. It was funny how in children's stories the Hero who is purely just a Hero, faultless and loved by all goes to conquer the villain who is always portrayed as purely just a villain – they scare the hell out of random – _random_ citizens then go off and relish in their own wickedness. But the question is _why?_ What's the point to it all? It's not like they accomplish anything out of it – they just make themselves into fugitives in the end when they're hunted down by the Hero.

But this Witch was full of character – fiery, sarcastic, and defiant yet, far more intelligent than she cared to let on. And she was seeing things and showed signs of hypervigilance although she didn't seem violent or maybe it was because of brain lesions? He wouldn't know for sure until the scan results came back. She was a realistic version of a Witch with personality, a motive, a history….. the rest were caricatures of Witches, meant to keep stories simple.

He found himself standing by her bed, transfixed as he watched her drift off, wondering with fascination if she might have cast a spell on _him_ while his back was turned.

He watched her, his eyes tracing every outline, the sharp angles of her face that seemed almost animal like in a way, her ebony hair curled around the ears, the long elegant neck that lead down to the round bone where the arm met the shoulder, down to the protruding collar bones and down further to the curve of her ribs, down, down, down…..

And for a moment, he found himself drawn to the novelty of simply reaching out to such an exotic creature and he stepped closer, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"_Dr. Fitz Morrible to triage, Dr Fitz Morrible to triage."_ Why couldn't they just call him Dr. Fitz?

He quickly turned on his heel, grabbed his notes and left the room, adjusting his coat.

Fitz still wasn't sure what to make of those funny orange pills or the orange tinged IV for when he asked, he didn't receive a clear answer. Perhaps he should run a blood test to see what it was….yes that was a good idea. He'd run them tomorrow.

**I just realized I made Fitz kinda creepy here**

**Reviews are always welcomed….if you want to….**


	12. Chapter 12

Dr. Fitz Morrible walked into the room, a folder in his hands as usual and came to sit on the chair by her bed.

"So Miss." he began. "How're you doing?"

The Witch looked at him suspiciously. "Fine…."

"Good, good." he said with seemingly artificial brightness, flipped to a new page in his folder and took a pen out from his breast pocket. "So I have a few questions to ask and I'll need you to be completely honest with me."

'_With me' instead of 'with us'_ thought the Witch._ A tactic to personalize. _She set herself on guard although she was not certain why she was so on edge."Alright." she had no idea where this was going and was curios. Morrible looked up at her, deadpan.

"Do you do drugs?" he asked, outrageously blunt for a doctor. The Witch started at the question for it was last thing she expected to be asked. _Do you do drugs?_

"What? No."

"I need you to be honest."

"Which is exactly what I'm doing."

"Well…." He flipped to a page covered in words and figures the Witch could not make sense of. "I ran the test and the results show rather large amounts of…..well as you'd know it, LSD and acid which would also explain the fatigue and high body temperature."

_Again; I instead of we._

The Witch stared at him fiercely and utterly confused. "I do not do drugs."

He opened his mouth to retort "Yes but – "

But she beat him to it. "Think Dr. Morrible –

"Fitz. Call me Dr. Fitz."

"- _Think _about it. I am the fucking Snitch of the West so who in their right mind would sell drugs to me –"

"Someone who's _not_ in their right mind –" again, with that playful smirk that seemed to get to her in an unfamiliar way and made her uneasy.

"And do you think being a Witch pays anything?" That wiped the smirk off his face and there was a pregnant pause as the point sank into Fitz's mind, stopping him in his tracks with a bombardment of meaning.

"You…you have no money." said Fitz slowly, carefully for there was another meaning to this point that the Witch seemed not to be aware of.

"Exactly, so even if there a person insane enough to sell me drugs, I wouldn't be able to pay for them! I have no income."

Fitz's expression seemed to freeze on his face. Should he mention it? But then if she knew, it would be like he was insulting her intelligence….but it seemed that she didn't know.

"So then explain." he said instead, making sure his voice was even. "How these drugs wound up in your system, hmmm?"_ I sound like a school principal. Who the fuck says 'hmmm'?_ Why did he even care? Why was he letting his self consciousness get to him like some high school boy?

"You expect me to know that?" The Witch asked, choosing to use a measured, indignant tone and she reached over to the table to grab the bottle of pills, her fingers closing around the bottle…..but then she found she was forced to stop for there was a pressure on her forearm and she could feel the fingers, warm and leathery around her arm.

Little green fingers.

The Witch froze in her position, her arm outstretched and she allowed her gaze to slowly travel up from the bare, green arm to the shoulders and finally to the child's face that appeared next to Dr. Fitz's broad shoulder. The hallucination of young Elphaba stared back at her older self, her childish eyes wide and shiny and she bit her lip with those pointy front teeth that used to scare her parents to no end. She seemed agitated, concerned…..a look of warning.

Fitz looked over his shoulder while the Witch blinked rapidly with a hollow feeling filling her chest. When she focused her vision again, the child had disappeared.

"What in Oz….?"

"You saw something." said Dr. Fitz when he saw her muttering, craning her neck to see past his shoulder.

"Hm?"

"You saw something just now."

"I'm not crazy." '_You saw something just now'_ it wasn't a question.

"It makes sense since LSD and acid are hallucigens."

"What if someone drugged me?" she thought about the image she saw a moment ago. Young Elphaba, the way her subconscious almost seemed to be warning her…"What if it's the IV or the pills?"

"The IV."

"We both found it strange to find that it's tinted."

"Hospitals don't drug patients – and I already mentioned it's a new….thing we're doing." he then stood up, noting something down in his folder. "I'm afraid I'll have to keep you in for a while longer." he said after a moment, his tone level and not giving anything away.

"What are you going to do?"

"Not me – we'll be putting you in a different department and they're actually quite interested - with you being the Witch and all that." He got up to leave but then paused. This might be his last chance to ask her about that scar – he was nearly certain it was a surgical birth scar but he couldn't imagine the Witch being a mother, the two words just didn't match. But it wasn't his place to ask so he started toward the door.

'_They're actually quite interested - with you being the Witch and all that.' _She found herself troubled over the words that now swirled around in her head, replaying over and over again in an endless loop. She had a nagging feeling that they meant something significant but somehow she couldn't place it. She looked closer at Dr. Morrible as he left the room and decided that he was clueless.

So the hospital had drugged her – she was certain of that but for what purpose?

She imagined what might happen. They make her seem psychotic in order to make her stay then move her to a different department then… _'They're actually quite interested - with you being the Witch and all that.'_ Her eyes widened in realization. It all made sense – she was a fucking _Witch_, the opportunities for research and experimentation were nearly endless with her being able to do magick and all that.

But she could hardly believe Dr. Fitz had set it up for he treated her well and had even developed a sort of friendliness with her, the way he'd sometimes joke at her snappiness and smirk in his boyish, playful way. It pained her to know he too had gone against her but what did she expect? He was Madame Morrible's nephew for Oz sake!

She sat up and moved to the edge of the bed, looking about the room. The oncoming events seemed almost unreal, staring at the room she had become s familiar with during the past weeks. She could not imagine being moved from here and into the hands of whoever would be handling her next - for her to go from a well treated patient to an experiment – a _test subject_ but it all made too much sense; she had eaten their plastic like food, took their medicine – in a few weeks they'd probably find her yelling at thin air and cursing at inanimate objects like poor Ama Clutch.

She knew she had to escape; she would have had to anyway for the law required for her to be turned in eventually. That must be why the hospital had drugged her! To make her appear insane in order to have a valid reason to keep her! Why hadn't she caught on sooner?

Oz, she felt like an idiot. She closed her eyes imagining her broom at the window, the brown, smooth tip knocking against the window making echoing tapping noises. She tried to imagine it with the fullest clarity possible for she had never done this long distance.

A number of days later she found herself jolted to attention by a noise at the window.

_Tap…tap….tap_. It was actually a bit eerie sounding. She bolted up, using that blasted IV stand to support her as she walked for her leg was still wrapped up in plaster and plastic and was easily irritated under pressure. She half hopped, half hobbled over to the window and sure enough, her broom was floating just outside, positioned conveniently parallel to the window. The Witch unhooked herself from the IV, watching uneasily as she slid the needle from her within her wrist, feeling the thin, cold mass of metal against her skin as she removed it.

She then went over to the cupboard simply out of a hunch and was glad to find her hat on the shelf. She put it on just for the sake of it and positioned herself at the window so that she was sitting on the windowsill, her legs dangling out into empty space, her knees touching the side of the broom. After some difficulty, she was finally in the air, flying as fast as the broom would allow. She followed the Brick Road, staying above clouds and recklessly surfing along rapidly moving wind currents so her young hallucination of herself would have to remind her to slow down, her inner mind acting like a worried mother. Damned drugs.

She arrived at Kiamo Ko at mid day.

The broom drifted automatically into the nearest window which happened to be the main recreational room while Liir had been at the front door, picking up the weekly mail. He was surprised to find a package of papers wrapped in a large, white envelope. He turned it around in his hands, wondering what it was.

It was from Nest Hardings General Hospital.


	13. Chapter 13

**Thanks everyone for reviewing!**

**Here we meet the Tinman...**

Finally,_ finally_ we were on the move.

Getting the car windshield replaced had been the biggest challenge. Oz did have cars but they were the old, boxy type with flat panes of glass for a windshield so to get my car fixed, we had to go with this company that does custom designed and fitted windows and that had took forever – plus, it was expensive as hell for which I have Scarecrow to thank since he was the only one with any money. I sat at the wheel, looking out through the new windshield/window. They actually did a pretty good job. The only flaw was that the glass wasn't completely smooth and had small dents and curves that distorted the view but only slightly.

Dorothy was sitting beside me, toggling the music, turning the volume on and off and flipping through CD covers with a fascination I wasn't sure to make of. But I had to say, I kind of liked her taste.

'_GO GIRL, IT'S YO BRITHDAY!_

'_OPEN WIDE, I KNOW YA THIRTSAY!'_

'_SAY AHHHH!'_

"It's like the dentist." said Dorothy with the most bewildered look on her face as the heavy bass beat filled the car.

"Hm?"

"He says 'say ahhh'. That what my dentist says to me!"

"Hah, you're right." So she has a sense of humour.

"And how to does he make the music? It doesn't sound like any instrument I've heard before."

Sounds like you haven't heard much. "Well most of its computerized."

"Computerized?" she asked, the word sounding awkward as she said it.

"Yeah like techno."

"Oh….."

"Well actually this isn't techno, it's just rap or something – I mean it has a lot of computerized stuff in it but it's not techno." Dorothy blinked in response. Did she get it?

I decided to keep my eyes fixed on the road, watching the yellow bricks as they seemed to be almost moving toward me and disappearing under the car. It was early in the morning and the sky was overcast with white, allowing a cold, greyish, white light to filter through the clouds which seemed to tint everything grey and cold…..But I kind of liked it; it had a rather solemn feel to it.

"Miss Becky may I suggest we take a moment to air out the car?" said Scarecrow from the back.

"Oh yeah, sure." Now that he mentioned it, I could actually smell some of the disinfectant.

I glanced at the rear-view mirror at Scarecrow. I still couldn't get over how damn _funny_ he looked….or maybe not funny but un – scarecrow. His original cloths were bloody and discarded so he was still dressed in navy pants, a white collard shirt and that black blazer/jacket thing….and his cone shaped hat which made him look like such a parody of a Scarecrow especially when he was sitting in the back of a car with his chin cupped in his gloved hand and gazing out the window….

"Becky, look!" said Dorothy over the stereo. I reached over and turned it off.

"Right, right."

"No you're steering's fine. I meant the apples!" When I actually looked at the trees along side either side of the Road, I could catch glimpse of red between the green leaves. I was surprised Dorothy was able to notice it. "May we stop by?" she asked.

"That's actually a good idea." agreed Scarecrow without taking his eye off the window. Is it just me or have I developed a position of authority over these two? Or is it just because I'm driving that my approval over everything is required? I pulled up at the side of the road without a word and stepped out followed by Dorothy and Scarecrow.

"Can we leave the doors open?" asked Scarecrow.

"Uh….sure." Why are you asking me? For a moment, I actually considered asking him but then decided against it. I stepped onto the grass, noticing how significantly softer it was than brick and arched my back to stretch. I felt heavy and the sudden purity in the air was making me nauseous so I started walking, looking up at the apple trees and the whole scene. Usually apple orchards are regarded as cheery places with people merrily gathering apples and such but today, with the sky white with clouds, the orchard was coloured coldly, the apples glinting with dull white light….a new concept – the sullen apple orchard. It was chilly too, I could see goose bumps on my skin but I found kind of liked the atmosphere.

I kept walking with my hands in my pockets, watching my feet as they barley left the ground and the brown, spiky shaped leaves crunch and crumble as I stepped on them with those damned Ruby Flats or Slippers or whatever it is. I didn't even want these shoes! First they were uncomfortable to walk in – or maybe it was because I'm unstable in flats? And they were making a main target for the Witch…..

Wait, why did Glinda the Good stick me in these shoes in the first place? Why couldn't she hand them over to some military group for protection instead of some foreign, unarmed kid? Fuck, I could have saved myself so much trouble if I just asked!

"Damn Glinda –"

"_Mmph!"_

I jumped at the noise and instinctively spun around to face a statue. It was a silver metal statue with an axe in the air.

"….the hell is this?" I muttered out loud. It had a detailed face like in the statue portraits of famous people where you could see the creases of skin around the eyes and the realistic, square, slightly triangular jaw, the snub nose and the crinkles in the lips. It was wearing a hat like the one Scarecrow had but this one was silver and more robotic looking. But it couldn't have made that noise could it? It was creepy.

_Mmmmph!" _It said with urgency. I jumped back, my heart leaping. For a moment I just stood there frozen, staring stupidly at the thing wide eyed and stunned into blankness.

"…" I replied.

"_Mmmmph!"_

Now which seemed more likely? I thought after a minuet of silence. The statue was alive and attempting to communicate or I was going crazy due to killing a tyrant by traveling to another world and dropping a house on her, then taking her shoes and as a result being hunted down by a homicidal green woman who I ran over and nearly killed? I must be losing it.

"_Mmmmrph!"_

I spun on my heel, my knees weak from the shock and started to stagger back to Scarecrow and Dorothy, attempting to shake my head clear.

"_MMMMRPH!" _

Shit, am I going to need to see a shrink for this? I jogged the rest of the way, my stomach heavy and filled with worry for my mental health.

"Becky!" exclaimed Dorothy when she saw me. "Look at all the apples we collected!"

I wasn't in the mood for childish enthusiasm. "Hm nice." I found a rock to sit on and sat there, staring blankly into space. I can't believe I'm actually going crazy! Do things like this wear off?

"So what did you see on your walk?" asked Dorothy.

"Um…..trees'n stuff…." For a moment I considered not mentioning it to avoid further questioning but I figured I do that all the time and what are the odds of them asking? They seemed settled, sitting around and munching their apples. "…..and a statue of like a metal or tin man or something."

Dorothy's eyes lit up to my horror. "Oh that's interesting - can I look?"

_You _can look. Not _us._

"A tin man?" said Scarecrow with what I thought would be interest but his tone was serious.

"Yeah….." I should stick to not mentioning things.

"Perhaps we should take a look. May we?"

Hell no! And why are you asking _me?_ "Uh, well I ….. I….." I didn't have time to think of a good way to refuse.

"It would be nice to go for a walk."

"Uh um, yeah okay."

I led them through the orchard, keeping my head up this time to remember the way, each landmark a step closer to the creepy statue. I didn't want to see it again – it scared me to hell. I should have said no! And yet I continued walking until I ended up near a different section of the Yellow Brick Road and the abandoned cabin. The statue hadn't moved and was still standing in front of the cabin.

"There it is." I said, interrupting Dorothy's chatter. I let them lead the rest of the way and stayed behind Scarecrow, my hands shoved as far down my tight jeans pockets would allow.

"Look Toto. A man made out of tin!"

I still don't get why she talks to her dog like that. I glanced at Scarecrow whose lip was twitching.

"_Mmmmph!"_

"HOLY – "I clamped a hand over my mouth. The last thing I wanted people to know was that I was losing it.

"You alright?" asked Scarecrow. I looked at the ground.

"Yeah it was….a bee."

Dorothy peered at the Tin man while her dog, Toto or whatever the dog's name was starting barking at it. "Did you say something?" she asked and my head snapped up. Did she just talk to the mumbling statue?

"_Mmmmmph!" _I think it was starting to get kind of irritated.

"Oh dear I can't tell what you're saying." said Dorothy.

I finally found my voice and looked up at Scarecrow. "You seeing this?"

"Yep." He replied, outrageously casual, his hands in his jacket pockets.

"_Mmmmmmrph!"_

There must be some kind of lubricant somewhere around here – it's not like a Tin man or whatever it – _he_ was would go off without something like oil. And I wanted to hear what he had to say, it would probably be something like '_great, now oil my joints so I can get the hell out of here!'_

"Ooh look an oil can!" said Dorothy who then went over to a stump and took the can that looked like a cylindrical, metal tea pot with a long, thin spout. "Where do want to be oiled first?" she asked. As if he could give an answer.

"How bout his mouth." I suggested and Dorothy obliged, tipping the can like a teapot over the Tin man's jaw joints while Scarecrow and I watched in anticipation.

"M – My goodness I can talk again!" said Tin man which was still shocking. When he saw me his expression immediately darkened. "You! You left me!"

"Um yeah I – I thought…." I am conversing with a statue. "…..I thought I was like losing it or something'n….yeah."

"Well that's not-"

"How did you ever get like this?" asked Dorothy hurriedly. I'll have to thank her for that.

"Well." He took his eyes off me and faced Dorothy. "About a year ago, I was chopping that tree" he nodded toward the tree at his side with a large dent in it where the fresher wood was exposed. "When it began to rain and right in the middle of a chop, I rusted solid! And I've been that way ever since."

Why didn't you get out of the rain?

"Well you're perfect now!" exclaimed Dorothy cheerily, moving his arm up and down, causing the joint to squeak slightly.

"Perfect?" he scoffed bitterly. "Bang on my chest if you think I'm perfect." We stood there, hesitant to oblige, exchanging glances to see who would do it. We didn't even know this guy and he was asking us to hit him. "Go on bang on it!" Finally Dorothy reached out and lightly hit her knuckles on his chest, causing his interior to give a crisp, pronounced echo.

"Nice echo." I said.

"It's empty." He leaned forward as if he was going to tell us a secret. "The tins man forgot to give me a heart."

And does this tins man have a PhD in biomechanics as well?

Dorothy gasped as if appalled by the idea that a living statue should be left without a heart. "No heart?" she exclaimed.

Tin man sighed. "No heart. All hollow." He banged his fist into his chest causing him to stumble backwards and for all three of us to rush forward to catch him. "See when a man's an empty kettle." He explained when we caught up to him, his tone low and mournful. "He should be on his mettle and yet I'm torn apart just because I'm presuming that I could be kind of human if I only had a heart….."

What do you expect us to do about _that?_

He continued with his explanation "I'd be tender, I'd be gentle and awful sentimental –"

"I'd say you're sentimental." I said and Dorothy shushed me. I was just saying!

"-regarding love and art. I'd be friends with the sparrow and the boy who shoots the arrows –"

You want to be friends with a guy that shoots arrows…..

"- If I only had a heart." He suddenly stood up straight and looked up at the sky, his voice growing more and more passionate to my amusement. "Picture me! A balcony…..above, a voice sings low..." I flicked my eyes toward Scarecrow whose brow was raised. "I hear a beat! How sweet just to register emotion, jealousy devotion and really feel the part – "

Isn't that what the brain does? Register emotion?

"I could stay young and chipper and I'd lock it with a zipper if I only had a heart." He grinned and began staggering forward, his knees constantly locking. He finally made it to the Yellow Brick Road and formed his stumbling into a sort of jig, kicking his legs out. Dorothy stared at him in delight like a child at the circus while Scarecrow and I stood there with question marks floating around our heads. The poor guy was probably just happy to be up and about. After a moment of hopping around, he managed to trip himself up and stumble uncontrollably forward.

"Aw crap." I muttered and ran to catch him followed by Dorothy and Scarecrow. Why doesn't Tin man just sit down?

"Are you alright?" asked Dorothy when Tin man landed sitting on a stump.

"I'm afraid I'm a bit rusty."

Dorothy sat beside him, her eyes bright. "You know what? Why don't you come with us to the Emerald City to ask the Wizard of Oz for a heart?"

"Whoa back up, back up." I said and Dorothy pouted at me.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Uh well I just thought it would be simpler if Tin man here just hired a tins man to um…..install a heart for him – I mean I don't even know if Glinda scheduled an appointment or not and then there's the Witch'n all that. Like what I mean is that there are so many simpler ways….."

"But what if the tins man doesn't know how?"

"Well…." Since when do people agree to go through so much trouble for total strangers?

"But suppose the Wizard doesn't give me a heart when we got there?" asked Tin man.

"Oh but he will! He must!" replied Dorothy. "We've come such a long way already – "

"We're not even half way there if you're talking about distance –"

_BOOM!_

There was an explosion at the cabin with red smoke erupting from the roof followed by that tell tale dirty hyena laugh. It was the Witch and I was going to die.

"AHAHAHA…..dammit." She realized she had transported herself onto the roof with no way of getting down. It kind of ruined the whole Witchy effect.

The smoke cleared up and I could see the Witch had white cast over her hand and wrist, leading into her sleeve as well as a cast over her foot which had a metal bit sticking out of the wrapping. I could see under the brim of her hat that her head was covered in stale, greyish looking bandages that dipped to cover her eye and there was a white strip over the bridge of her nose. If this were a cartoon, the Witch would have looked hilarious but she was pissed and stuck on the roof of a cabin.

We watched in amazement as the Wicked Witch tentatively crouched down, wincing slightly as she slid herself off the roof until she was hanging off the edge. She then jumped down, taking the impact on her good leg. I watched dreadfully as she caught sight of me, her eyes blazing and body tensing furiously. She stalked toward me although the limp made her seem a bit less menacing as well as the clinking from the metal sticking out of her cast.

_Clink, clink, clink_…..

She's going to kill me, she's going to kill me, she's going to kill me…she reached into her bag and shoved a package of papers into my chest. At first I didn't know what to make of this so I stood there stupidly.

"Read it!" she snapped and I looked at the first page, literally reading it but before I could get anywhere the Witch grabbed the papers and flung to the last page before holding it up in my face. "_This_ page."

I looked at it. It was just a bunch of figures and numbers. I scanned over to the bottom where written in bold was what looked to be a total sum.

**Total: $500,000**

**NEST HARDINGS GENERAL HOSPITAL.**

A hospital, the one we took her to. Is this what I think this is?

"What…..?" I looked up at the Witch who looked as if she wanted to shoot me then dump me in a pack of wolves…or vampires.

"What do you mean_ what?_ What do you think this is?"

No way. "Wait so….this is your medical bill? You want me to _pay you're medical bill? _Cause there's like no way –"

The Witch exploded. "I AM NOT PAYING HALF A MILLION DOLLARS BECAUSE OF _YOURE_ CARELESSNESS! BECAUSE _YOU_ CAN'T DRIVE!"

I could see up close that her eyes were bloodshot, she was panting slightly and her forehead was shiny with sweat with the effort required to move about. She had also seemed to have lost some color and looked kind of stale. Is she sick?

"W – well yeah but….don't you have health insurance?" That was a stupid question.

"Idiot girl, do you think a company would be willing to accept a Witch as a client?" The Witch took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. When she spoke again, her voice had gone uncharacteristically quiet as if she had suddenly grown tired of yelling or maybe just…..tired. "Do you at least have liability on that _thing_?"

What's liability? "Um….not here but could I get liability?"

"No. You've already done it."

'I've already done it.' Oh yes I have. "Kay but….what should I –"

"You should pay for it! It's your fault this happened!"

"Yeah but how do you expect me to get half a million dollars! It's not like a can take a loan, I'm supposed to be leaving here!"

Scarecrow stepped forward before the Witch could answer. "And if _we_ don't paythe hospital is going to go after _you."_ The Witch opened her mouth to retort but then closed it. She was silent for a moment her eyes fixed on Scarecrow who stared back at her, glaring at her as if challenging her to retort. Bold guy. To my surprise the Witch seemed to wither under his gaze and suddenly her eyes widened as if in shock. She blinked rapidly and turned her head with an expression of bewilderment. Did she see something?

"Do you have a name, Scarecrow?" she finally asked quietly, refusing to look at him.

"My name?" he asked in surprise or perhaps in shock at the concept of having a name for the thought had never occurred to me. Now I wanted to know.

"Yes." She looked at him expectantly…..hopefully. Or at least that's what I thought.

"I…." he thought for a moment with half hearted effort. "I am known as Scarecrow."

Why did she want to know? Maybe I could ask….nah I don't want to ask but I want to know. No I'm not asking.

"Um I – I have an idea." said Dorothy emerging from behind Tin man, clutching her dog.

The Witch's head snapped in her direction with a glare like a growling lioness, causing Dorothy flinch, her eyes wide. "And who are you? Asked the Witch.

"I – I'm Dorothy Gale, the small and – "

"Just get on with it, girl."

"Yes. Um I….I think maybe we don't have to pay _all_ of it. Maybe a quarter of the amount."

"A hundred and twenty five thousand dollars." I thought out loud. That was still so much! But the Witch seemed to consider it, seeing there were not many options.

"Three hundred and seventy five thousand." The Witch muttered and looked up at us as if for the first time. Defeated and at a loss.

"It's not gonna get much better than that." I said softly. The Witch was silent.

"…..Fine." she said. "Fine send a cheque to my address – Kiamo Ko when you have it."She limped away pathetically before enveloping herself in red smoke and disappearing. I have to admit I felt sorry for her – after all her sister died, she got run over and is now five hundred _thousand_ dollars in debt all in the span of a month because of_ me. _

That's just brilliant.

But at least she forgot about the shoes.

"Excuse me?" said Tin man with the most bewildered expression on his face. "Can someone explain what just happened?"


	14. Chapter 14

She figured she must have looked cliché; sitting on a bar stool, lit by bluish light, staring at the giant bill in front of her and slowly sipping a scotch, enjoying the smooth, fiery liquid as it traced a path to her stomach and sending fumes back up her throat, causing her to cough. She had never been much of a drinker.

She looked around at her surroundings, uneasy about being with so many people after years of isolation. But it was a nice place with a bar, people chatting at tables and even a stage over looking a dance floor, all lit by dark, blue light in an attempt to give the place a club like feel. She couldn't help but to feel that people were looking at her, murmuring under their breath and glancing in her direction as discreetly as they could manage. It was like being a student all over again.

At least they weren't panicked by her presence like in other parts of Oz. The Vinkus was much more rural and folks were never connected enough to be manipulated. She continued to sip her drink, staring at the paper in front of her, adjusting her glasses.

**Total: $500,000**

The numbers seemed too ordinary, too plain to completely ruin someone's life – just black numbers on a piece of paper, numbers like the numbers printed in her school records, weather reports and all those random surveys in the newspaper. Just black ink on paper.

**$500,000**

She sighed and sipped her drink. How in hell was she supposed to pay _that?_ She was nearly forty and was a Witch who didn't graduate college so hopes for employment were nearly out of the question….and here she was spending her money on liquor. But she knew she probably would have to get a job some time or other – of course it would be easier for now to get a loan from one of those back - street cooperation's but she'd have to pay them back eventually and with interest. It would be better if she already had some kind of profit – but who to turn to?

She thought for a moment, raking her brains for an ally, basically someone who wouldn't run away at the sight of her. Glinda – that traitor was employed by the Wizard and Madame Morrible themselves so that was out of the question and the same goes with Avaric…..and Boq had a farm and scared as hell of her. This was hopeless.

She groaned in frustration. There had to be _someone_ or maybe an Animal like…Princess Nastoya! The Witch could have slapped herself. How could she have forgotten about the Elephant princess of the Scrow who had actually said she would help her? And had even given her crows.

But what kind of job could she get? A bounty hunter for her experience in the resistance, participating in exterminations? She didn't want to be an assassin. Or perhaps an assistant of some sort, taking notes for Animals with hoofs -

"Hey, it's you again." said a voice behind her, startling her for she wasn't expecting anyone to talk to her, being a Witch. But it seems he knew her.

"What – OH MY GO –" He clamped a hand over her mouth, glancing over his shoulder as people began pointing at them. She turned her head to dislodge his hand and looked up at him in astonishment. "Dr. Morri –"

"Fitz! Call me Master Fitz or Doctor or whatever you please but not…..that."

"You mean Morrible."

"No I meant don't call me 'Nephew of the Wizard's Press Secretary." He smirked at her with that boyish, playful smirk and she groaned and rolled her eyes, dropping her head to the bar counter. Even with their conflicts and accusations, there was still a lingering friendliness between them, they way they got to each other like siblings.

"Fine," she replied, looking up. "I'll stick with Morrible."

Dr. Morrible had abandoned his lab coat and was now wearing a plain white T shirt under a zip up sweater with a hood and black pants, allowing her to note that his well paying job had granted him the benefits of rest and exercise for he was quite lean for a man of his age and handsome as ever. But why the hell was he here? Did he come to capture her and bring her back to Munchkinland? She was on guard.

He shook his head at a loss and plopped down on a stool next to her, ordering them both a drink.

"Sooo…" he trailed off into silence as the Witch picked up her drink, tilted her head and gulped it down. "Um…how're you doing nowadays?"

_Strangest way to start a conversation with a patient that ran away _and she glared at him, her eyes narrowed while he grinned sheepishly. "What kind of question is that?" she demanded. "What do you think?"

"Well I thought…." people were looking at them, muttering amongst each other. It was making him self conscious and he leaned closer. "I just thought I'd ask."

"Oh that's rich - what are you even _doing _here? Have you come to capture me for further experiments?" It ended up sounding like a joke and he laughed out loud, causing other customers to chatter excitedly, pointing at them like gossipy teenagers.

"Nope, I've been recruited."

"Recruited." It was amazing how easily she could talk to him. He had just appeared out of no where and they were already having a conversation whether she wanted to or not.

"Yep, the Vinkus needs doctors and I happen to be a doctor so there you go."

"Well that is brilliant."

They sat there awkwardly, sipping their drinks with Fitz sending her curios glances. He found it amazing how quickly she had recovered, she had already removed the bandages around her head and eye and all that remained was the cast around her leg and forearm. But he couldn't get over the fact that she looked and was so incredibly _normal_. After all those years around his Aunt trying to get him to fear the Wicked Witch of the West and to think of her as those Witches in fairy tales, all messed up.

He smirked. If only his aunt knew she was almost like a parody of a Wicked Witch, young with sharp, pronounced features, a slim, long figure and smooth, emerald skin. The only things that could define her as a Witch was her pigmentation and her cone shaped hat that hid her face in shadows in a way that made her seem mysterious rather than…..he racked his brains for the word. _Witchy _he decided lamely. And then there were her glasses.

"You know, I never pictured the Wicked Witch of the West with glasses." he finally said. They were black, steel rimed glasses with modern looking rectangular lenses.

"I'm near sighted." She tapped the package of papers in front of her. He had been wondering what that was.

"You found a book of spells?" he teased.

She glared at him in annoyance. His cockiness was infuriating her, turning everything she said, however important into a joke. It was like he was trying to give her hell, with that godamned smirk of his. She looked away, resting her chin in her hand…

"_WHEN YOU SEE MY FACE, HOPE IT GIVES YOU HELL, HOPE IT GIVES YOU HELL!"_

She jumped in surprise and nearly fell off her stool. "What are you….." she trailed off in astonishment, looking up to see Fitz out of his seat pointing at her mockingly.

"_WHEN YOU WALK MY WAY, HOPE IT GIVES YOU HELL, HOPE IT GIVES YOU HELL!" _She could only stare at him, stunned into blankness. _It had a strange instrumental unlike anything she had heard before. It was like construction site with instruments pounding, establishing the beat with strange sounding notes like an artificial acoustic guitar that was capable of holding notes and a loud drum cover. _

"_IF YOU FIND A MAN THAT GIVES A DAMN AND TREATS YOU WELL!" he was singing at the top of his lungs, moving animatedly according to the beat, his eyes glimmering and his mouth curled in a boyish smirk. "THEN HE'S A FOOL, YOU'RE JUST AS WELL, HOPE IT GIVES YOU HELL! I HOPE IT GIVES YOU HELL!"_

He was right. The only man who ever treated her well was a fool to do so, a fool to fall for her mysterious ways that kept him coming, searching for answers she refused to give and he died for it. That had certainly given her hell; she had been driven into a muted depression for fifteen years, searching hopelessly for forgiveness in a selfish need to redeem her self. Fitz was singing her life! Was this even real?

"Miss?" said a voice she detected to be in front of her.

"_TOMORROW, YOU'LL BE THINKING TO YOURSELF!" He came closer, bending his knees to point a finger in her face. "YEAH, WERE DID IT ALL GO WRONG? BUT THE LIST GOES ON AND ON!"_

Were did it all go wrong? It went wrong from the beginning, from the moment she emerged and took her first breath. From then, it all just went to hell; every campaign had failed starting with her failure in the resistance all the way to freeing the Royal Vinkun family from the clutches of the Wizard. The list was endless, her whole life was nothing but a series lost causes.

"Hello? What's happening?" said the voice. She shook her head, trying to respond as the music blared in her mind.

"Well I…." she closed her eyes allowing the music to fade like a dream ending.

"_TRUTH BE TOLD I MISSED YOU…."_ What was that suppose to mean? She opened her eyes and there was Fitz in his seat, looking at her questioningly, his brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed.

"And you're still seeing things." He said not disapprovingly but observantly.

"Um…." She couldn't think quickly enough of a way to deny it and looked at her hands pressed on her lap like a child being scolded.

"You should seriously get off the drugs, you know they kill brain cells and you could –"

"I don't need to hear this – and I am _not_ on drugs!"

"Then what was that just now?" he leaned closer so their shoulders were nearly touching and she could see genuine concern in his brooding eyes or was it just curiosity? What if he was planning to blab all this to his horrible Aunt and make it public? She could imagine the headline: _Wicked Witch of the West: Criminally Insane or Just High All The Time?_

She glared at him from under the brim of her hat, her eyes narrowed with suspicion and he shrugged.

"You're not afraid of me." She said, keeping her tone level in order not t give anything away. If someone asked, she'd surely deny it, but she was hopeful. It would be nice to talk with someone under the age of 80 and who didn't constantly burst into episodes of adolescent drama or run away at the sight of her. But she had to be careful. This was the nephew of Madame Morrible.

"You haven't done anything yet." He suddenly pulled away and asked for the bill. He paid for their drinks before she could say anything then abruptly got up to leave. "But truth be told" he said before heading out. "I kinda missed you."

She was startled. "Why's that?"

"Life's less boring when you're around." He grinned and out headed out the door leaving her to gather her thoughts.

**

* * *

I LOVE hearing from you people so….what did you think?**


	15. Chapter 15

**Yeah I know, I leave forever then have a short chapter but I will continue updating!**

**Enjoy:**

Madame Morrible; The Wizard's Press Secretary had a problem.

Her nephew, Fitz had grudgingly given her the foreign girl's testimony at the hospital that the Wicked Witch of the West had been hit by a car. But the problem was that the Witch had been _exposed _to some degree and her condition had contradicted some of the things Madame Morrible and the Wizard had worked so hard to spread. But it seemed they did too good a job.

They had portrayed the Witch as a stereotype; incapable of human feeling both mental and physical, they had said she was so old that her bodily fluids had dried so she never bled. That was where they left it and had allowed the frightened citizens of Oz to continue the Witch's profile. The citizens had manipulated themselves into believing the most idiotic things. They began to believe that the Witch ate children, she could shed her green skin like a snake, and she had one or three eyes and a tail – plus everything Madame Morrible and the Wizard had originally said.

And then the Witch gets hit by a car. According to the girl and her group of familiars, the Witch had popped up out of nowhere and smacked right into the windshield. They had driven the Witch to the hospital awake, screaming and bleeding all over the place and one the medics eventually had to sedate her. Then came the staff's interaction with the Witch. Most of them were too frightened to even come near her but the ones who did found her to be horrifyingly normal. They reported that the Witch spoke well like a sophisticate, she had two eyes, no tail, didn't even attempt to eat anyone – in fact she barley ate at all, and was estimated to be under 45 years old, perhaps in her late 30s or early 40s. And according to Fitz, she didn't even look like a Witch despite the green.

So Oz was in an uproar of confusion and accusations which were terribly true and it was Madame Morrible's job to set then straight again...or more accurately bullshit them which was why she was getting the girl, Becky and her familiars to do a speaking in Central Munch. The girl must be a mess of strained nerves since the Witch now has a legitimate reason to be angry and her fear would hopefully spread to the Munchkins.

* * *

Two days ago, we had gotten an invitation from the Wizard's Press Secretary, Madame...something to speak in Central Munch about the Wicked Witch. There was no rehearsal, no time to prepare – it was basically just '_come over and talk to us about the Witch'. _The only real reason we agreed to this on such short notice was because of Madame….Morrible. I'm pretty sure it's Morrible – because of her relation to the Wizard. Our plan was to ask for an appointment with the Wizard if Glinda hadn't already done so.

It was night at around 11pm and we decided to take a breather from the car. The four of us were settled around a lake in Rush Margins, sitting on a fallen tree and getting eaten alive by mosquitoes, swatting the air as we heard them buzz past our ears. It was like camping or something. The sky was clear, causing the lake to reflect its blackness and the glowing dots that shifted and wavered as the lake rippled in the breeze. We even had a small campfire going, the orange sparks whipping in the air as I poked around the embers with a long stick. I've always had a fascination with fire and how different materials burned, how the flame caught and poured over the object, causing it to curl and wither into charred nothingness. Even with the breeze blowing outward, Scarecrow made sure to sit far from me.

I sat, in the warm, orange light, wondering what I was going to say during the speaking about the Witch. She is portrayed as The Wicked Witch of the West but she actually seems fairly reasonable in her crazy way. I mean if I got run over and had to pay a $500,000 bill, I'd arrest the person then have them pay damages as well as attorney fees…except the Witch….well she didn't kill me – she needs me in fact to pay off her giant hospital bill.

Maybe I could ask the Wizard for money!

"We'll never reach the Wizard if we keep going backwards." muttered Dorothy loudly. She had found my Ipod nano while flipping through compartments in the dashboard and was sitting beside me hunched over the glowing screen of my playlist, tracing her index finger along the round button in the middle, scrolling up and down for 20 minuets straight. She had the ear buds placed kind of crooked but I couldn't hear anything even when she had the volume at about a quarter of the way.

The three of us smirked with suppressed laughter at Dorothy's unawareness.

"Shall we get going then?" asked Tinman. He looked at me expectantly.

"Yeah, sure."

I tugged Dorothy along to the car as she refused to look up from the Ipod screen.

"Never seen an Ipod before?" I asked with genuine curiosity. She was acting like my grandmother, all fixated on the glow of the screen and the way songs were highlighted when she scrolled.

"WHAT?" yelled Dorothy. She barely turned up the volume! I decided to let it be and led her to the car, my brow raised. I'll ask her about it later.


	16. Chapter 16

**Yeah, the last chapter was sort of a filler cuz whats happening with Becky is meant to be straight forward (She meets 3 people and goes to the Wizard) while what's _going_ to happen with Elphaba will get complicated so I have to keep things in time...somehow.**

**But anyway enjoy!**

We had reached the check point at the border of Munchkinland at around noon the next day and were blown away by the fuss our arrival had created. It seems Morrible had summoned the local militia to escort us to the center of Munchkinland with a whole series of frivolous displays. There were carriages with silver wheels led by white horses with green ribbons in their tails and pudgy, wealthy looking drivers in green, shiny blazers with top hats, trumpets playing a royal tune and a whole crowd of jolly citizens in their finest dinner wear – pinstripe pants and jackets, exotically coloured dresses and such. They were singing and dancing and waving celebratory flares in the air, cheering us on – even the security people in black, old fashioned automobiles, trailing from behind.

Cheering murder. Don't these people have any idea?

"Bunch of lapdogs." I muttered, surprising myself at the bitterness in my voice. I could sense Dorothy, Scarecrow and Tinman all exchange glances behind me.

I drove on, looking straight ahead along the Yellow Brick Road and the happy, innocent, bloodthirsty citizens of Munchkinland, on either side of the Road, leading all the way to Central Munch and the stage Morrible and us were supposed to meet. We got to the site, crowded with people who made a path for the car to pass through to the stage where Madame Morrible and Glinda the Good stood side by side. I didn't know Glinda was going to be here. I could ask her about the shoes!

We stepped out of the car to be bombarded with flashing cameras, causing us to squint as we made our way forward. This whole speech thing had better be worth it.

"Ah, our dear saviours," said Madame Morrible. "How kind of you to join us."

"Yeah." I muttered and looked up at Morrible for the first time. She had a squat figure like a pumpkin and had a face that sort of bulged out at the jaw and eyes giving her a look like a bulldog…..or piranha. I wondered what she might have looked like when she was younger.

"Oh it's our pleasure to come Madame." said Dorothy with exaggerated brightness and glanced at me stiffly.

I stepped up onto the stage with my hands in my hoodie pockets, indicating my uneasiness as the Ruby Slippers sparkled in the dull white light that filtered through the cloudy sky. These damned shoes – they were root of all these problems. It was the shoes the Witch was after and had caused her to terrorize me, it was the shoes that led her to follow me into the apple orchard to be struck by my car. And now because of that, I owe the Witch half a million dollars which I'm not even taking full responsibility for! And I can't even think of one good reason for me to be the keeper of the shoes! In fact, I can think of every reason for me _not _to! I killed the Witch's sister, I'm a foreign, unarmed child being forced to travel boldly across the country with a _minivan_ in a place with antique automobiles. Yet I still carry the burden of the Witch's shoes.

What the fuck was Glinda thinking?

I turned my gaze away from the shoes and towards Glinda in her gowns waving at the crowd to quiet down with that stupid grin on her face. For a moment she turned away from the Munchkins and looked to smile at us, perhaps to reassure us for the crowd was huge. Dorothy, Scarecrow and Tinman beamed back at her and I stood with my hands in my pockets, steaming. For a moment, Glinda met my gaze and froze at my expression. She looked shocked, her eyes wide, her lips pressed together and her skin white as ever. She quickly looked away while Morrible addressed the crowd.

"Citizens of Oz," she boomed through the microphone while Glinda looked straight ahead. "We are in the midst of a crisis – a time of terror due to the Great and Terrible Wicked Witch of the West!" she paused as the crowd erupted then settled. "But today we shall put aside our fears and _celebrate_ the disposal of the Witch of the East and the near defeat of the Witch of the West at the hands of our young heroes who will now tell the tale of their braverism!"

Three four of us on stage exchanged glances to see who would talk. We should have rehearsed this!

"Um well as you know, I'm Becky Johnson." I said, feeling awkward. I glanced at Morrible who smiled and motioned for me to continue."And uh….yeah it all started when I…."_ Murdered._ "When my house happened to land on the Witch of the East and Glinda handed me her shoes."

"_Your_ shoes." Said Morrible.

"That originally belonged to the Witch of the East. Her sister wanted them and uh that's what started all this mess….the _shoes_." I could see out of the corner of my eye Glinda fiddling with her wand.

"That must be quite frightening for you, upsetting the Witch." The crowd murmured in agreement. I resisted the urge to slap a palm over my face. _Upsetting the Witch – _what did they expect? I killed her sister, stole her shoes, ran her over and gave her a half a million dollar debt! The stupidity of these people! They cheer murder, worship bubbly airheads, agreeing with every word spoken by their leaders without questions. It was enough to drive me insane!

_I killed her sister then ran her over and gave her a half a million dollar debt. It would be weird if she had no reaction. _"Well if you think about, I…." _killed. _"I disposed of her sister then ran her over so um the fact that she's pissed is sort of…not surprising really."

The crowd was silent, staring at me while contemplating this new concept that the Witch's actions – however outrageous were justified. I down looked at the overly dressed Munchkins. I couldn't help but to think of them as a bunch of little people, the size of children with the long, sharp faces of adults and the mentality of lapdogs. They were all staring at me, their little mouths curved off to the side, their little brows furrowed and their little eyes shiny and disapproving. They were scowling at me at me. What did I say?

I looked to the side to see Glinda fiddling with her wand, wringing it in her hands and causing pink sparkles to float to the stage, her eyes darted from side to side while Morrible's grin seemed frozen on her face…like someone with botox.

"You must be afraid of her though _aren't_ you?"

"Well I…..I guess…if she'll has time to worry over me – or uh no um well …move to strike that." If it goes public the Witch owes half a million dollar's, I'm dead.

The whole atmosphere went silent with crickets chirping in my imagination. I decided to trudge on with the story before anyone could intervene with some embarrassing comment. I was awkward.

"And yeah I kept going along the Yellow Brick Road and ran into the Witch – quite literally - like she popped out of nowhere while I was driving and _whack!_" I paused to see my effect on the crowd. They just stared at me. "And then I met these people." I pointed at Dorothy, Scarecrow and Tinman. "And that brings us current."

Who cares if it's out of order? They'll never know.

Morrible stood at a loss for a moment before speaking. "…..Well that's quite a….story, being pursued by the evil Witch of the West all that time."

I shrugged. "She hasn't killed me yet….and I almost killed her which is actually kinda ironic." I have to stop thinking out loud. Morrible looked at me, her eyes lowered and her mouth pressed into a thin line strewn sloppily across her face. I grinned back at her, not knowing what to think.

"LET THE JOYOUS BE SPREAD THE WICKED OLD WITH AT LAST IS DEAD!"said Glinda loudly – obnoxiously and out of place into the microphone, causing it to screech. Morrible glared at her.

Glinda's outburst was the kick to send us out of our circle of awkward exchanges. The soldiers, trumpet people and all other entertainers took the statement as a cue to continue with the parade. Glinda and Morrible led us away down the glittered steps. I took this as a chance to speak to Glinda.

I decided on formality. "Miss Glinda the Good?"

"Yes my dear?" she kept her gaze on the crowd, speaking while maintaining that stupid grin and waving.

"I was thinking to have a word with you after the…." What was that anyway? A speech? A talk? "After we finished talking'n stuff."

"What for?"

"I have a couple of questions to ask you." _You idiot. _But I don't know that come to think of it. What if she actually had a legitimate reason to stick me with these shoes? Glinda paused as if considering but then to my relief turned to Morrible and pointed over her shoulder to signal we were leaving. Morrible nodded and quickly turned to face the crowd.

"This way dearie." said Glinda and led me away. I thought we were just going to a corner to talk but instead I got led around block to an automobile…..a hot pink, boxy automobile with glittery, silver lining around the windows. Actually, it looked like a 1930's style Cadillac.

"Nice car." I muttered as Glinda got into the drivers seat and motioned for me to sit next to her. She had a white, leather jacket folded neatly in her seat which she put on, fussing over it, tugging the cloth this way and that and constantly sending glances in my direction like a child intending to hide something they snuck into the folds of their clothing. But she was just fussing being a famous public figure and all that.

She reached up to press her fingers against her ear as if adjusting some sort of ornament.

"We'd have to drive fast to save time. I hope you don't mind." Said Glinda finally

"No, no…" she started the car and kept it going at a steady pace. I sat back waiting for her to speed it up. But she kept it that way. "Hey how fast are we going?" I asked.

"Oh about 60 kilometres an hour. Is that too fast?"

"No, no….where are we going?"

"Morrible made a reservation for you and your friends at a hotel."

"Oh thanks. Uh for how long?"

"Only a week – "

"A_ WEEK!"_

"You're free to check out whenever you like."

"Oh good." Thank god for that! We drove; 'speeding' down the cobbled street just past what looked to be a residential area full of large houses with trimmed lawns and black, metal gates. It looked like Beverly hills except the miniature dogs looked like German Sheppards compared with people here walking them. Finally, after about twenty minuets of driving we pulled up across the street from what looked to be another large house without any significant difference to the other ones. It was actually a nice place but nothing like what I'd chose to live in.

It had a black metal barred gate that led to a cobble drive way and up to a bunch of granite steps with Greek looking pillars at either side. Glinda strode through the grand double doors, her head held high as the few people in the waiting area looked up, pointing at her excitedly. I followed her through another set of doors into what looked to be a lounge with a green carpeted floor, tables, easy chairs and all that you'd find in a living room…..except the TV and stereo system were replaced with a stage and a live performance of string players.

Above the stage area was a painted portrait of a young woman with sharp features, straight, red hair and pale skin. She seemed to look down on the room in a superior sort of way, smirking down at us like that.

It was a familiar smirk that for a moment sent a shiver of the same kind of uneasiness up my spine. But it couldn't be _that_ could it?

Glinda and I sat across from each other in green easy chairs that made me feel like I was drowning in the material. I felt quite out of place too. The few people here were dressed in classy gowns with shiny, laced hems like something from the 1800s and the men in smart, black suites with huge, splaying collars and black ties…and here I was in navy skinny jeans, a blue T shirt and a black hoodie. And Ruby Slippers.

"So what did you want to say?" asked Glinda.

"Uh well…." Its funny, I've wanted to ask this for so long yet now it feels so awkward. "Did you get any word from the Wizard?"

"Oh well he's…." she brought a hand up to her ear for a moment as if adjusting an earring. "He….our Wizard works in mysteries ways."

I looked at her pointedly. _What the hell is that suppose to mean?_

"….._and?"_

"Well we haven't received word from him I'm afraid but….." she reached for her ear again. "But you know I'm sure he'll be perfectly glad to help."

_You've got to be kidding me! _"It would be kinda nice to know for sure you know."

"Yes dearie and when our beloved Wizard sends us word, we'll be sure to…..to let you um know…is that all?"

"No. About the shoes um….." how to word this without sounding accusatory? _Why did you give me the Witch's shoes when you knew her sister wanted them? It's what started all this mess in the first place. _No, that wouldn't fly too well. How about….

"I was wondering why you chose me to carry the dead Witch's shoes around."

"Oh well that's because um….." she reached to her ear again. This whole earring thing was getting ridiculous. "We couldn't let the mean old Wicked Witch of the West have them. They're too powerful to be left in the wrong hands….or feet."

Glinda the Good: The Ozian equivalent of Sarah Palin.

"Right, let me rephrase," I had to restrain my tone from slipping into a bark. How should I rephrase? I can't be accusatory and I can't ask in a way that would allow Glinda to steer around the question…..fuck it, I'm going to be blunt.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows in my lap and crossing my fingers. Glinda seemed to lean back, stiffening. "You chose _me_ out of all the people in Oz to carry the shoes – the shoes that are 'too powerful to be left in the wrong hands."

Glinda tugged at her jacket, having left her wand in the car. "Um yes….."

"You chose a single unarmed, traumatized, foreign kid, who was just dumped in the middle of fairy land over something like Oz's military people or Madame Morrible or someone other than a sixteen year old who just killed a person."

"Um…..um well….."I cut in before Glinda could deflect the question.

"And the Witch of the West is after these shoes right?"

"Yes and we couldn't let her have them so –"

"So why the hell did you think it was a good idea to let a kid keep the shoes while the Witch was after them? I have no defence against a Witch or crazy politician or whatever she is and if I did, I still wouldn't know because _I'm not even from here_. I mean I can think of so many better people for this sort of thing."

"The Witch of the West probably is – ack!" she suddenly yelped and pressed her fingers against her ear, cringing slightly.

"Something wrong?"

"Oh nothing," She giggled like someone on meth. "I…..I have a migraine."

"In your _ear_?"

"Yeah. You know I'm going to go take something for it – I'll be back in a moment." she abruptly leapt up, causing something to leap from her jacket collar, a black line leading up to her ear that had been pulled straight for a split second then fell limp across Glinda's shoulder with a circular piece of plastic at the end. Glinda froze in horror of her exposure but then contorted her now white face into a smile.

For a moment I was too shocked to respond and sat there gaping with my mouth hanging open in speechless fury.

"Oh d - don't mind this," she said, her voice rising in terror and lifting the limp cord that led to the back of her jacket collar. "It's a…..new line of earring ….."

Epic. Fail.

"What the fuck - you're wearing a wire!"

"No I'm…." Glinda trailed off.

"Don't give me that!" Now I was on my feet. "It's a cord and an earpiece – I mean what else could that be?"

"An earring?"

"No."

"B – but how do you know? This – " she tugged at the cord. "This is a prototype! They're not meant to be sold for another two years at least!"

"In my world, these things are sold to ten year olds in spy kits!"

Before either of us could get another word out, the main doors were heard to be opened and Dorothy, Scarecrow and Tinman strode into the room. Madame Morrible stood with them like a robot, her smile frozen on her piranha shaped face.

"Ah Miss Glinda!" said Madame Morrible through gritted teeth as she marched towards us, her steps digging into the carpeted floor as if she intended to punch holes through the ground with her stiletto heels. Her shoes really looked out of place on her considering she looked like a piranha…or maybe a tilapia. I tried to imagine her younger, a bit thinner I suppose with longer brown hair, bulging, green eyes…

"To be honest, Miss Glinda," I said as Glinda stood like a deer in headlights at the sight of Morrible. "I was kinda hoping you could take the shoes off of me."

"W-what do you mean?"

"They like literally don't come off."

"_WHAT?"_

"What do you mean _what?"_

"Miss Glinda!" Madame Morrible roared as she approached us. "A word with you in _private_." She grabbed Glinda by the wrist and began to drag her out the door. I turned to watch them leave, unable to find the nerve to call out to Glinda in hopes of continuing our discussion for it had taken a crucial turn. But Glinda was already halfway to the door, looking back at with a mixture of shock and horror at her mistake. She was being tugged backwards, stumbling over her heavy gown, her pink heels slipping and sliding across the marble foyer with the earpiece dangling foolishly out of her jacket collar. Then she was out the door.

Damn, I should of gotten her cell number…..does Oz have cell phones? I wonder if Glinda has a card. I sighed heavily and turned my attention to the portrait. That woman looked so familiar….

"That's my wife." said an elderly man's voice beside me.

"Oh," I replied. "Are you two the owners?"

"It's just me now. She died. She and my second daughter." I heard him sigh. "This was once my home you know."

"Oh…..um sorry."

"You should be."

"Wha – Oh my god, what the hell."

Standing before me was Frexpar Thropp.

* * *

Madame Morrible paced up and down the carpeted floor of her private suite, wringing her hands in worried frustration. The 'meeting' had completely failed beyond any failure Morrible had ever experienced. Everything that could have gone wrong went wrong; Morrible had been counting on the girl to be a nervous wreck, expecting to be murdered any second and jittery as a threatened rabbit but instead she talked awkwardly and was calm stating '_she just popped out of nowhere while I was driving and whack!'_ She had even admitted to her offences which was most horrifying for it implied that the Witch's actions, however outrageous were justified. She even seemed to pity the Witch!

And then came the meeting with that bubbly bimbo Glinda. It seems the girl had a fair amount of brains and wasn't at all naïve like the rest of Oz's population…..except the Witch. The girl was analytical regarding the Wizard's decision to leave her with the shoes and came at Glinda at every angle, challenging Morrible and Glinda's ability to keep up…then the wire came loose.

Morrible sighed in realization of what she now must do to maintain the Witch's reputation and set Oz straight again.

She was going to have to spy on the Witch and capture her in a moment of outrage.

**So what did ya think?**


	17. Chapter 17

**NAME: Elphaba Melena Thopp.**

**AGE: 38**

**RESIDENCE: Kiamo Ko, Upper Vinkus, M2L 4F2**

**CONTACTS: (Home Phone) 648-223-3593**

**ACADEMIC PROFILE: Was enrolled in Qhyore Technical School and graduated with 92% average before being accepted to Shiz University, majoring in Life Sciences and taking a minor course in Computer Science. Dropped out after one year to be involved in a resistance movement against the Wizard's Adverse Animal Campaigns.**

**EXPERIENCE:**

** Worked in the status reports archive in filing **

** Typist**

** Junior Programmer **

**EXPERIENCE IN ESPIONAGE:**

** Assassinations**

** Arson**

**ADDITIONAL SKILLS**

** Self Defense**

** Weaponry**

The Elephant Goddess stood across the small, high table, reading over Elphaba's resume, her huge, watery eye darting back and forth. Elphaba sat across from the Elephant, her hands clenched in her pockets as she anxiously waited. She found it strange that she was nervous – she thought she had forgotten how after years of solitude. But she definitely nervous, she had never written a resume and wasn't even sure she had written it correctly or was there not a standardized format? She couldn't afford to be unprofessional – she needed to land this interview.

Princess Nastoya cocked her giant head at a point and Elphaba could feel her heart beating against her chest and the back of her neck going damp as she watched and waited, leaning in. The princess straightened herself and continued reading. Elphaba suppressed the urge to bang her head against the table. Her resume wasn't even a full page! How long was this going to take? The wait was knawing away at her nerves and she rested her chin in her palm, staring at the silver, steel table and occasionally glancing up for a change in the Elephant's face.

Finally, Princess Nastoya spoke.

"There's no need to be so nervous."Elphaba froze in horror and shock of her exposure and Princess Nastoya chucked lightly. "An Animal can tell these things you know?" Elphaba wasn't sure what to say so she nodded and the Princess continued. "I like your resume. I just have a few questions is all."

"Okay."

"While you were a Junior Programmer, what software did you use?"

Elphaba could feel her face going hot. "Punch cards."

"We use Java." Her eyes glimmered with what could have been humour.

"I could learn…" She should have been more specific in her writing.

"I'm sure you could. And you were also a hit man?" There was a hint of interest in her voice now.

"Yes."

"What jobs did you have?"

"Just thugs really who developed enemies with members of the Resistance – you weren't suppose to ask questions so I never really knew why."

"How did you do it?"

"Well you familiarize with their routine first then you….I shot them – at close range usually with a silencer….." Her voice faltered. She suddenly remembered the Marks and their faces as they met their death, the shock, the fear and surprise as she pulled the trigger then finally the blankness as their eyes froze in their sockets and they fell to the floor of their apartments or on the sidewalk. She recalled the finger of blood squirt from the dime sized hole in their heads and how the liquid would pool around their dead bodies, running into the gutter or into the carpet. Then the next day the hit would appear in the newspaper and Fiyero would tease her. But she could never bring herself to tell him although she didn't mind the killing as much as she should have. It sometimes scared her that she could be so cold but it didn't surprise her. Not after the life she lived.

These questions were all on assassination.

"You were once assigned to kill Madame Morrible weren't you?"

"Yes, it was meant to be a coordinated hit but there were obstacles we –"

"Don't talk with your hand in front of your mouth."

Elphaba snapped her hand down on the table, her heart beating in her throat. She needed this job and was making herself to be a jittery mess. Not impressive. "Sorry um….yes it was meant to be a coordinated hit but there were obstacles we weren't expecting."

"Right, how long ago was this?"

"About fifteen - fourteen years ago."

"Do you think you can still manage it?"

"You mean kill Morrible?" _Fitz._

"Not Morrible, it'll be all too expected."

Elphaba waited for her to go on with the specifics but the Elephant was silent. "So…."

"Go home and we'll call you."

For some reason, she felt her stomach drop. "Alright then." She got up and headed out the tent.

So she got the job. Elphaba supposed she should be glad about this; she was in desperate need of employment and knew this was a highly paid job – sometimes over 50,000 dollars a hit depending on the importance of the person. She could now get a loan and pay the hospital before they sued her and even save some money for domestic needs or perhaps even send Liir to school; the boy could definitely use it. She was going to be paid…..to kill – no. Exterminate under contract. Well she had done it before, so she could do it again couldn't she?

She was and now would be a merciful release from the corruption that comes with life, a quick shot to the head was all it would take to bring the thugs and failures from their filth, back to the equal, perfect, sameness that the dead and unborn reside in. It was a way to bring the underground druggies, fugitives to level of executives, CEOs, kings and wizards. Everyone's the same when their dead and it'll be fortunate to do it quick and painless.

The Witch sighed. She'd rather do programming.

* * *

"So what exactly does a Witch do for a living?" asked Fitz over the noise of the bar.

"I shoot people for money."

Fitz whistled. "A woman hit man. Sexy."

"Oh shut up or I'll shoot you." _Or your aunt. _

The others in the bar had stopped staring, the Witch noticed but that didn't stop them from talking. She could tell from the overall hushed mingle of chatter that they were gossiping, speculating her presence and the strange man seated beside her who was talking and laughing while she shook her head in annoyance. Was he a colleague? An undercover Gale Forcer? Or a lover perhaps? She had stopped caring long ago but was relieved they were no longer staring. At first it was with fear as if she was intending to bomb the place but after she proved herself to be harmless, the stares became curios like she was an alien specimen.

She turned her attention back to Fitz. They had developed a tacit agreement to meet every week after Fitz was done at the clinic, usually on Fridays. She hated to admit that she enjoyed his company, the way he'd smirk as she rolled her eyes at some goofy comment or his simple, yet reasoned, easy going way of thinking. Always managing to calm her, reassure her. She never thought she'd grow fond over a relation of Madame Morrible.

"So I have theory on those orange pills." Fitz was saying.

"Really."

"Yeah it's called blinding. Have you heard of the placebo effect?"

"No I haven't." she was interested now.

"So it's….." he had to think for a moment. "So if a person believes themselves to be ill, they might be given an inert pill and feel that their condition has improved even though the pill they took was inert."

"So…"

"So blinding is a way to test drugs without having your psychology alter the results."

"What does that have to do with the orange pills?"

"Well maybe they gave you a new sample but since you already know what morphine looks like, you weren't blinded."

The Witch suppressed the urge to bang her head on the table. "Morrible, that explains almost nothing – I mean just yesterday I thought I saw Chistery and Nanny dancing on the roof…wearing bowler hats."

Fitz blinked at the sheer randomness of it. "Well…..at least you have something entertaining."

"And then I saw my dead mother in the bathroom." _And got tooth paste all up my nose._

Fitz stared at her for a moment then burst out laughing.

"Morrible, this is serious!" she lowered her voice when people around them looked up "What if this never blows over and I'm stuck with hallucinations for the rest of my life? The hospital must have –"

"Hospitals don't drug patients –"

"You're being naïve. Hospitals are known to experiment on patients."

"You think they were experimenting on you?" he leaned closer and she shifted uneasily.

"I – I'm an amateur at magick. People_ would_ be interested in that….perhaps the drugs were meant for me to appear crazy and thus create an excuse for the hospital to keep me longer for observation."

Fitz thought for a moment. What the Witch was saying made sense but it just seemed so far fetched that people would do such a thing although it was known to happen. He thought of his colleagues, the flirtatious nurses, stern supervisors and all the other doctors he went to drinks with after his shift. If they were keeping something from him, they were excellent actors. He couldn't recall anyone acting strange or anyone avoiding him. Everyone was natural and he couldn't imagine any of them deceiving him.

"Well you're here now." said Fitz after a moment and smiled reassuringly. "I'd say you're safe with Munchkinland at the other side of Oz."

"You'd be surprised." She muttered and suddenly remembered the time. It must have been close to twelve by now and what if Princess Nastoya called and she missed it? "I should be going now." Said the Witch and got up to leave.

"How bout I drive you?" said Fitz, also getting up. The Witch stared at him, astounded.

"_Why?"_

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Kiamo Ko's close to five miles from here and it's past twelve. Women shouldn't be walking around alone at night."

"Morrible, I'm the Witch. I'm not a woman - I'm not a person even."

Fitz looked at her, his brow raised. "Well….that's fine with me."

"In what way is that _fine?"_

"Just come."

She opened her mouth to argue but he had already turned around. She groaned and followed, unaware that the bar was watching in wonder, their eyes glued to her as she walked out the door. The Witch followed Fitz down the street and around the corner to an outdoor parking lot, dimly lit by street lanterns that cast sudden shadows in a way that was almost artistic if you chose to look at it that way. The Witch liked the night, the concealing darkness that allowed her some degree of freedom and the sudden, contrasting light that looked almost artistic.

"Are you sure you can drive?" asked the Witch.

"Yeah, I just had two drinks. Noooooooo worries."

"Great." _It's always 'no worries' with you._

They got to Fitz's car; a red Buick. The Witch stepped into the car and was immediately assaulted the nauseating smell of a hot, unaired car. She had never been in a car and felt suddenly stiff, sitting in such a compact place with no room to stretch her legs or turn. She could only sit straight, breathing that awful car smell.

_How may drinks did I have? _Thought the Witch._ Four, five? I had better not puke._

Fitz had a nagging urge to break the awkward silence eating away at his nerves. He wanted to ask her about what he saw while she was in the hospital, it was on the tip of his tongue but the words stubbornly refused to leave his mouth. He could ask it casually like small talk. '_Do you have kids?' _he'd say and that would be the end of it. He probably shouldn't mention the surgical scar he found; it was too…too private. And who would have thought the Witch could have a child? And who the hell was the father? She couldn't have been raped could she? That would be terrible.

Fitz suppressed a sigh. The Witch was a mysterious woman, on guard and never giving anything away except the basic facts. She lives in Kiamo Ko, has a bunch of flying monkeys (which was already widely known), and is living with a frustrating old nanny and a teenage servant boy. That was all he knew for sure of the woman sitting _right next to him._ He was desperate to dig deeper, crack the hard, crusty shell surrounding her and really get to know her –

'_Morrible, I'm a Witch. I'm not a woman – not a person even.'_

A faint glimpse of the character within. But what could it possibly mean?

"Morrible, pull over." said the Witch, her voice low and rushed. He glanced over and saw her slouched over, her arms wrapped over her stomach and her face hidden by the brim of her hat. He pulled over at the edge of a park of some sort and followed the Witch as she staggered out of the car and onto the grass, looking around frantically for…something.

It was too dark to see any kind of expression she might have and Fitz could only stare curiously.

Finally, Fitz decided to ask for once. "Hey you alrigh –

"BLAAAAAAAAAGHHH!"

"Guess not." Being a doctor, he wasn't the type to recoil at the sight of someone vomiting but outside his profession, he found himself unsure of what to do. So he stood there, his hands helplessly at his sides while the Witch hunched over, her body lurching as her stomach twisted and the muscles in her throat worked themselves backwards, expelling everything she had consumed that night. For a moment Fitz pictured himself strolling through a park then coming across a pile of bile….nasty.

"You get carsick?" asked Fitz so he wouldn't be just standing there.

The Witch straightened. "No shit Morrible."

"Oh…right."

She rolled her eyes, managing to look intimidating even while sick and staggering as she made her way back to the car. Fit followed her, rubbing the nape of his neck, needing something to occupy his hands. He suddenly remembered his days at Shiz, how he and his buddies would be returning from a pub or club, laughing and talking – shouting like the drunkards they were then vomiting in the grass while the others just laughed some more. But now…..

He was just old.

"How much farther is it?" asked the Witch.

"Just another mile or so. And you could sit in the back."

_Why? _"I'll do that." She was in no mood to argue. She merely flopped uncharacteristically onto the seat, shutting the door and leaning her head against the window as her stomach churned and she could feel the engine vibrating the seat.

Fitz continued to drive, his hands tense around the wheel, looking ahead at the pool of white light produced by his headlamps and the sudden, contrasting shadows at either side. He wanted to ask the Witch that one thing that had been knawing at him the whole time they had been together. That scar, he was almost certain it was surgical birth scar, the alignment was right, the cut was clean and it was in that exact place. But he could hardly believe it! The Witch – The Wicked Witch of the West having a child! The thought was absurd…..but the Witch – she was just a Witch, not a _Wicked _Witch. She was still a woman.

"Sooo do you have children?" asked Fitz, trying to sound casual as if he was attempting to generate small talk but he found it sounded exaggerated.

"What?" there was a sharpness in her voice that he wasn't expecting. He decided to play innocent; it'll be chaos if he said: '_I felt a scar on your lower abdomen that I think is a surgical birth scar.'_ She'd shoot him…..or turn him into a Frog.

"I was just wondering."

"Well the answer is no."

"No?"

He heard her groan. She was probably carsick. "No I cannot say I have a child."

"You can have a child even if you can't say it –"

"Morrible!"

"If you're mute."

He heard her grumble something and he laughed despite his unsatisfied curiosity. He wasn't sure what to make of her reaction but she didn't consider the topic small talk it seemed. He full of speculation but couldn't formulate a way to probe the Witch further into the topic…..like his aunt. What he felt at the hospital, that moment of infatuation with the Witch, her complexity, her exoticness and the mystery of her had lingered and he was finding himself continuously drawn to her presence, sitting closer than necessary on the bar stool, buying her drinks and trying to get her to chat, say something about herself.

He guilty twitched his eyes up at the rear view mirror and saw the Witch slumped over in her seat, resting her head on the window, her eyes closed and her arms wrapped around her stomach like an inexperienced child that has yet to get used to driving. It was endearing in a way. The Witch opened her eyes suddenly and met his gaze in the mirror.

He quickly looked away, his face warm.

They were approaching Kiamo Ko and Fitz found himself filled with awe that he was getting the chance to see it up close. Kiamo Ko was sort of a provincial icon, being the castle of the royal family and all. Now it housed the Wicked Witch of the West which gave the place an aura of trepidation as well as admiration.

'_How the hell does she keep things clean? Magick?'_ What would happen if he asked? It's a harmless question isn't it?

"You can drop me off here." muttered the Witch and he came to a stop at the gate.

"Um…..well goodnight then Miss." he said and saw her roll her eyes in the mirror.

"I have a name you know."

"You – you're name." he stuttered dumbly. Her name, the Witch's name. A whole new concept that never even occurred to him! Or anyone for that matter.

"It's Elphaba."

For a moment he was too stunned to speak but then he grinned at her jokingly through the mirror, daringly flashing the tips of his canines, giving him a youthful, mischievous look. "And _my _name is Fitz." he could have been mistaken but he thought he saw a sudden spark or perhaps not even a spark – a faint glow in her eye, a sign of life behind her unfeeling surface.

"Goodnight Master Fitz." she said.


	18. Chapter 18

Frexpar Thropp left his car by the Yellow Brick Road and rejoined the ceremony of the departing saviours.

He had been thinking of this for a while now, ever since that wretched girl killed his child, the Wicked Witch of the East. Nessa had too much power se knew what to do with, he realized and her faith in Unionism had not aided her in any way. The girl was never meant for politics, she was too dependant and had never grown out of it. He had expected Elphaba to take on the role of Eminence as was her birth right but at the end of her first year at Shiz, she had decided to abandon any responsibility and went gallivanting off to some idealistic cause and never left a trace.

He then began to hear rumours, first only here and there but soon everyone was talking about a Wicked Witch living out in the west, in the Vinkus of all places. He heard Elphaba had gone mad for various reasons, some said it was because of a boy at college or that she had deteriorated from living in isolation or even that she had working for some crone by the name of Mombi and had cast a spell on herself that caused her to lose sense. Little Fabala – the Wicked Witch had become a terrorist, she bombed shelters merciful enough to care for homeless Animals, and she had murdered many wealthy donors to the Wizards campaigns. At least 10 years later it was announced by Madame Morrible herself that the Witch had been sighted working in Kiamo Ko, having killed Fiyero Tigelaar and the rest of the royal family.

But Frex started hearing a new set of rumours kept away from the press, mostly spoken by druggies and other hopeless thugs of a young green woman, a girl named Fae working with some underground Gillikin mob against the Wizard in the Emerald City. He wasn't sure what to make of it.

After the Witch had been discovered, Frex and his daughter had suffered tremendously. Frex was cast out by his church and made to live in insignificance, make himself unrecognizable which the Witch had done for him. His hair had gone from brown to grey to white, he became thin and crooked with the weight of his Punishment and Nessa had been labelled the 'Wicked Witch of the East' in relation to her terrorist sister and was constantly exploited.

But Frex's strength was still with him, saved for a task he had been considering for 38 years.

Elphaba, the Wicked Witch had ruined her family, his and Nessa's life and now this wretched, foreign child had arrived and killed his only salvation. He stepped into his car and started the engine.

He was going to kill them.

He was going to kill them both.

**Reviews are what keep me going in life...So what did ya think? :)**


	19. Chapter 19

**Dorothy's POV**

Becky had refused to speak of her meeting with Glinda the Good besides muttering something about a woman named Sarah Palin and a dumb bitch. Dorothy thought it was odd. Bitches are female dogs so it makes no sense that Becky would call Glinda a dog because she's clearly human. And now Becky sat at the wheel in silence, staring through the slightly curvy windshield in an almost hostile silence, her face unchanging, unsmiling, her jaw visibly clenched and her hands tense at the wheel, causing her steering to go jerky. She seemed unhappy. Perhaps Dorothy could cheer her up?

"Why don't we sing a song." said Dorothy, looking at Becky who made no response.

"I think that's a splendid idea!" said Nick Chopper but it he preferred Tinman for some reason. The name Tinman in Dorothy's opinion stole his individuality even though he was obviously one of a kind. The name just seemed too much of a generalization.

"_Oh we're off to see the Wizard!"_ sang Dorothy, embarrassed at first to be singing on her own. Then Tinman joined.

"_- the Wonderful Wizard of Oz."_

"_We hear he is a whiz of a wiz if ever a wiz there was!" _

"_If ever oh ever a wiz there was the Wizard of Oz is one because, because, because, because, because…."_

"_Because of the wonderful things he does!"_

"_We're off to see the Wizard, the Wonderful Wizard of Ooooooz!"_

"What do you folks think?" asked Dorothy, as bright as she could manage but then cringed inwardly. She sounded like a six year old version of Glinda…or Glinda if she got really, really drunk like Uncle Henry on pay day.

"It's like a western version of Kim Sung Il's theme song." muttered Becky, staring through the windshield with a stoic seriousness that Dorothy couldn't place. Scarecrow on the other hand suddenly looked grave and shoved his gloved hands in his blazer pockets.

Dorothy was sometimes not sure what to think of Becky. She was the hugest rebel Dorothy had ever encountered in almost every aspect. She dressed outrageously, wearing tight pants without suspenders, a sleeveless – _sleeveless _top with a low, sloping neckline that went down to the collar bones, far too revealing, and cloth sneakers. She also at one point had some kind of hooded jacket sweater but that had to be discarded after being soaked in blood. The girl was also extremely crude, speaking with the freedom of a young man and seemed to be unaware of the discretion that was proper for women and girls.

But she was smart; she questioned everything, pointing out things Dorothy would never think to notice such as her instructions to carry the Ruby Slippers. Personally, Dorothy would have been delighted to carry such marvellous shoes and at the same time protect them from evil. It was an honourable task that Dorothy would have been proud of but Becky seemed resistant to the idea and kept going on about how _she _was chosen out of all the more qualified people in Oz, going over all the reasons why she was 'like totally unqualified.'

Dorothy never would have thought of that.

And then there Becky's automobile. It was the most amazing vehicle Dorothy had ever seen! The back space was like a cushioned bench or a lounge with electric lights in the ceiling that were like a light bulbs if they got were squashed and flattened by a book, drink holders that you could fold down and a miniature record player that blared music from speakers _embedded_ in the interior.

'_Poppin bottles in the ice'_

'_Like a blizzard'_

'_When we drink we do it right, getting slizzard'_

'_Sippin sissurp in my ride, in my ride like 3 – 6'_

'_Now I'm feelin so fly like a g6'_

The beat of the song, instead of being hidden and acting as a base line for the performers, was now pronounced and _loud_, vibrating in Dorothy's throat. The possible types of instruments capable of producing such sounds completely eluded her. It sounded something like a xylophone and a heavy snare drum meshed together or perhaps more material sounds such as pots crashing on a tile floor, the sound of a wind chime or the buzz of wasps being elongated and the pitch changed into notes. Even the vocals were different, the way they could make their voices loop like a broken record. The melody of the song was also out of the ordinary with repetitive notes that gave it a….._provocative_ tone.

She thought of what Auntie Em and Uncle Henry would think of it. They'd probably say it was a sinful, all about girls, clubs, shots and greasers but Dorothy sort of liked it. It sounded rebellious…naughty. And she liked Becky too despite her crudeness. She was rad - no...what was the word?

_Cool._

Becky was cool.

"They didn't clear the road all that well." said Becky.

Dorothy looked around. This particular area seemed to give off an aura of abandonment, the way leaves, twigs and dirt had been left, scattered along the road and the wild grass and ferns sprouting uncontrollably from the forest floor, trees that had snapped from the middle, filling the forest with messy, splintering arches. There were no animals either, no birds chirping, squirrels scurrying about or any sign of life. Perhaps this area had been damaged by the tornadoes?

_I don't like this forest_ thought Dorothy.

"It is rather creepy looking isn't it?" replied Tinman and she started, not realizing she had spoken aloud.

"Especially in the dark." And the way it gave everything a surreal look with biting, contrasting shadows that lit the shape and edges of objects, the spikes of splintered wood, the curves branches and such. Dorothy peered out the window at the mellow, yellowish light and the patches of blackness, suddenly wary of the creatures that might be lingering just a few feet away from them. It was known for animals to claim abandoned territories, she suddenly remembered. What if they met something big like a bear? They couldn't run it over….like what happened with the Witch.

Dorothy grimaced at the memory of the Witch's screams and the blood spewing from her mouth, spraying all over the place. That was just horrific; there was no way they'll run over any animal. But what would happen if they really did encounter something?

"Do y'all think we'll meet any wild animals?" she asked.

"Anything interested in straw?" asked Scarecrow lightly.

"Well some." said Tinman. "But mostly Lions and Tigers and Bears – "

"Did you say Lions?" asked Scarecrow.

"And tigers!" said Dorothy.

"And Bears." finished Tinman.

_Lions and tigers and bears?_

"Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!" said Dorothy.

"Lions and Tigers and Bears, oh my indeed." said Tinman darkly. Dorothy was sure he was serious.

"Guys, this is like a temperate zone." said Becky, attempting to hide her mouth twitching while Scarecrow snorted with laughter at the remark.

Dorothy didn't believe this was a matter to be laughing at and scowled. "But what if we do meet a lion?"

"A lion in this climate?" Becky laughed "This is like Canadian weather! Way too cold for lions."

"Lions have been spotted in this area." piped up Tinman. "About two weeks ago, there was Lion that attacked a member of the Ivory Tigers, a rather important member apparently. A young female."

"Oh goodness!" exclaimed Dorothy. "Did the lion eat her?" nobody answered.

They had just rounded a corner into the sun that now cast a pretty, orange, yellow light into the car and Dorothy found, now provided with shadows, she could see the sharp lines of Becky's face and the sombre expression she wore, unchanging and staring out onto the Road.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement ahead of them and turned to look just as Becky snapped out of her sullen trance and exclaimed. "What the fuck?"

A large but smaller than average Lion hopped out of the underbrush and turned to face them, it's lip lifting into an inaudible growl, exposing it's huge, triangular teeth, it's body tensing into a low stance and it's ears laid back cunningly. It was quite a sight in a fearful, amazing sort of way. Dorothy, who had never seen anything larger than a fat barn cat was mesmerized, staring at the large, heavy paws and black claws as large as her own fingers, the muscular haunches, flexed with anticipation, the elegantly arched back and it's heavy, tail, swishing back and forth. It was a beautiful specimen.

The rest of the crew besides Tinman were shell shocked and sat uselessly in their seats. The Lion began to slowly, almost mockingly move towards them, each step slow and tense.

"What do we do?" squeaked Dorothy as the beast got closer but nobody answered. Then in a flash, it stood on its hind legs and slammed a paw into the windshield, making everyone flinch before hopping back….on it's feet.

Put em up! Put em up!" he said, taking a guard position the best a Lion could, putting one foot in front of the other and raising his giant paws to either sides of his jaw. They had no idea of what to make of this spectacle and sat there with their mouths hanging open like idiots while Tinman just stared at the Lion with an expression that read: '_Are you serious?' _

"C'mon, get out of there!" the Lion continued. He had a young sounding voice, Dorothy decided. They watched as the Lion paced to the side of the car where Becky was sitting with the window rolled down. Becky was frozen and didn't move to roll the window back up so the Lion seized the opportunity and grabbed her by the shoulders the best he could with his claws retracted.

"Hey what're you doing?" she exclaimed and began flailing about as the others moved to assist her but were too late as she was pulled out through the window and toppled onto the ground which would have been hilarious if it were from an episode of _slapstick_. But in real life, incidents of comedy usually result in someone breaking themselves, Dorothy realized.

Dorothy and Toto got out of the car, shamefully reluctant and positioned herself behind Tinman and Scarecrow, peering around their arms like a timid child…which she was.

"You bloody scoundrel of an Animal!" shouted Tinman with conviction which surprised Dorothy. Tinman was always such a gentle, docile creature – _person_. He was sometimes even seemed slightly childish, always talking with innocent simplicity like a kindergarten professor addressing their four year old charges. To see Tinman or one's kindergarten professor speak with such sudden character was quite a flip.

The Lion raised it's huge, handsome head at Tinman, and glared, his eyes narrowed but somehow looked as if he was trying to feign anger. Then he pounced and they all scattered to avoid being crushed and the Lion was left standing in the middle of them all. Dorothy glanced at Tinman from behind the car and noticed he was glaring heavily at the Lion and shaking slightly. And Scarecrow sat by a stump with his arms crossed which looked sort of comical in this case and Becky was crouched at the end of the car.

"Which one of ya first?" said the Lion in a pronounced, southern accent. Nobody moved. "I'll fight ya all together if ya want…..I'll fight ya standin on one foot." To Dorothy's amazement the Lion actually demonstrated his point and stood on one foot.

A southern Lion, pumping his paws and standing on one foot. It was the most ridiculous thing Dorothy had ever seen; in fact it would have made an excellent circus act.

"I'll fight ya with my eyes closed!" he closed his eyes.

"Does it look like we're in a position to fight?" snapped Becky courageously. The Lion spun around to face her.

"Oh pullin necks on me eh?" the Lion drawled and to Dorothy's amazement, Becky didn't shrink back but instead stood her ground with that…..that _cool_, rebelliousness.

When Becky didn't respond the Lion turned to Tinman. "Sneakin up on me eh?"

"I ought to call the Gale Force on you." sneered Tinman and for a moment, Dorothy thought she saw the Lion recoil but then he growled or scoffed if a short growl constituted a scoff.

"Oh scared huh? Afraid huh?" he said and Tinman gripped his axe. "How long can you stay fresh in that can? Hah! C'mon and fight ya shivering junkyard." He turned to Scarecrow. "Put yo hands up ya lopsided bag of hay!"

"No need to get personal." replied Scarecrow, his brow raised.

"Why don't you teach him a lesson then?" asked Tinman.

"Well you're the one with the axe."

Dorothy who was peeking over the top of the automobile suddenly spotted Toto running up to the Lion but she didn't call his name. Not with the Lion 5 feet away from her at the other side of the car. She prayed Toto would shut up for once but she could see his ears folded back and his tail erect.

It was just one, short yap that caught the Lion's attention. The beast whirled around, muttered something and Toto, sensing he was in danger scurried away with the Lion now in tow. Dorothy could only watch, horrified as that idiot dog ran straight for Becky who seemed to freeze up like a deer at the sound of a shotgun during hunting season, eyes wide like saucers. She then screamed and in slow motion rose to her feet, turning and bolting down the road like a frightened rabbit. The Lion went after her, running on his hind legs like a human which would have been a hoot if he wasn't also shouting:

"C'mon back'n fight ya coward!"

Then something happened. The two of them had run about 10 feet when Becky suddenly turned and in a flurry of movements had the Lion on the ground, her fists failing blindly as the giant Cat lay on the ground with his paws covering his face. Dorothy glanced at Tinman and Scarecrow who were staring at the spectacle with identical expressions of shock and disbelief. They jogged up to them and hauled Becky off the now cowering Lion.

The Lion scrambled to its feet. It was then Dorothy noticed he had tears matting the fur on his face.

"W – Why did you do that for?" he blubbered, losing the accent.

"What – you're kidding me." muttered Becky in disbelief.

"I – I wasn't going to hurt you."

Dorothy was automatically sympathetic towards the creature. He wasn't dangerous, just afraid, putting on a bimbo façade as an act of defence. She glanced at Becky and saw her in that state of angry rebelliousness, her eyes flashing and her fists clenched as she intended to pummel the Lion again. The girl was clearly not nearly as forgiving and Dorothy knew she was going to spout in one of her episodes of shrewd defiance.

"Then why the fuck did you come after me? I thought you were gonna kill me – I mean your paws are like the size of my head!"

"And it's bad enough picking on straw men." added Dorothy. She could also be defiant and speak out. Like Becky. "But you were about to go after a poor, little dog."

"But you didn't have to hit me did ya?" he began sobbing openly. "Is my nose bleedin?"

"No of course not." said Dorothy, full of pity for the Lion who was forced to keep up a charade. "Why what a fuss you're making, it's what happens for picking on those weaker than you are! Why you're nothing but a great big – "

"PUSSY!"

Dorothy turned to Becky and said "Well of course he's a pussy – he's a cat."

Becky just stared at her, completely stumped.

"You're right, you're all right." said the Lion, wringing his tail. "I am a coward – look at the circles under my eyes, I haven't slept in weeks!"

"Well fuck you, you nappy mother fucker."

Dorothy had never heard of any of this slang. It sounded quite rad, exotic even and Dorothy could use a bit more slang in her speech – everyone was doing it nowadays, all the young farmhands and senior students at Sunday school. Now Dorothy had something to contribute! Judging by the context, this particular slang seemed to be an insult like 'wet blanket' or ragamuffin. So she could call Ms Gulch a mean old Witch and a nappy motherfucker!

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of an invisible object whizzing past her ear, someone crying out then a thump as they fell from a tree and onto the brick road.


	20. Chapter 20

**Wow, it's been a while hasn't it? So just to recap:**

**Elphaba got a job as an assassin employed by the Elephant Nastoya and officially introduced herself to Fitz while Becky and her crew just met the Lion.**

**On with the story!**

She dressed herself up in a pair of Irji's old camouflage pants and put on one of her black, collard shirts. There was no way she could operate in a skirt.

She was assigned to take out a Lion who had done something 'disrespectful' as Nastoya put it to the daughter of an associate – the leader of the Ivory Tigers. The Lion's name was Brr. The Witch had naturally opposed to taking the job not just because the target was a Lion and was once used as a subject in her Life Sciences class but it was also because he had gone to live in a 7000 square kilometre forest. It was going to be nearly impossible to find a single Lion in a forest – she depended on addresses. But in some ways it was easier than hits in the Emerald City. Lion's usually travel in a group but this one was a loner and also had a unique tuft chin that was only seen in one clan. And then there was the fact that this was taking place in a forest, away from civilization and witnesses. She was also being paid ten thousand dollars for this.

It was purely a coincidence she happened to be at the Yellow Brick Road when Becky and her crew arrived to be confronted by Brr. She crawled, crablike and quiet into a nearby willow tree and watched the exchange. The Witch decided Brr might not be mentally stable, dancing around on one foot, pumping his fists and closing his eyes while stating he wanted to fight for no apparent reason. He had a terrible Hill Billy Munchkin accent as well. Then the girl – Becky ran off and the Lion went after her, running awkwardly on two feet. _Why doesn't he just run like a normal Lion?_ wondered the Witch. They ran almost right under the tree she was at when Becky suddenly whipped around, swinging a fist into the side of the Lion's face, knocking him down. The Witch watched, her brow raised as the adolescent girl proceeded to pummel the full grown Lion who instead of using his massive claws to slash the girl, covered his face.

As the rest of the crew rushed over, the Witch began to set up her position. She silently, moving slowing removed the strap attaching the rifle to her back and positioned it, shifting so her back was against the trunk of the tree, bringing a knee up to support her hand gripping the middle of the rifle and pressing the butt against her shoulder to reduce recoil. She brought her eye to the scope, seeing the blurry, bouncing image of the Lion's head.

The last time she held a rifle was during the attempted assassination of Madame Morrible, she realized. It was the night her life practically went to hell. She pushed the thought away from her mind, focusing on the task at hand but the familiarity of the rifle she was holding brought her back to that night, the sudden colour bombarding her scope, the blurry golds and greens of Lurinmas, the reddish blush of the children's cold faces.

She blinked and focused on the yellowish brown of the Lion's head.

_There was suddenly snow blowing in the side of her face and the bark of the trunk suddenly became hard and frigid. _She looked behind her, expecting to see bark but instead saw a white, marble pillar. She was hallucinating again. She looked back through the scope_ and heard voices of high class men and women, cheering, clapping as Morrible appeared on stage. She felt the cold wind whip against areas of exposed skin like needles or perhaps it was just the snow, melting in her skin. She was looking forward to going home, wrapped in Fiyero's warm embrace. _

The Witch tried to focus on the present, peering through the scope at the Lion but _then heard Morrible's voice, echoing slightly through the microphone. She could feel the cold marble pillars pressed against her back and her ears beginning to sting in the cold_. The Witch reached up to cup a freezing ear. She breathed deeply and brought the rifle to her shoulder and again proceeded to focus through the scope at the Lion's yellow fur.

"_And that concludes our Great Wizard's Lurinmas greeting the citizens of Oz"_

The moment was crucial, it was her last chance. She aimed at the Lion's yellow head and pressed the trigger_ as the image suddenly turned to bright, blurry golds and greens of children hawking for presents_, causing the Witch to jerk, her grip coming loose, the butt leaving her shoulder and her hands leaving the rifle just as it fired. The recoil happened in a flash and all she could comprehend was the wooden butt crashing into her clavicle and the end of the scope striking her eye with such shocking force that she lost her balance and slipped out of the tree, falling then landing hard and striking her head on the Yellow Brick Road.

Her vision became obscured by a mass of black dots.

"Holy crap," she heard the girl say. "Hey you alive?"

And then there was pain. It suddenly occurred to her that her collar bone had been smashed and was now on fire and the there was warm, liquid running down the side of her face. She pressed a hand to her throbbing eye socket and felt the back of her neck was sticky and she could feel droplets of liquid tracing their way down her neck like finger tips. She must be bleeding she realized.

"God, fuck." she groaned, sitting up and causing her head to go floaty. She blinked through the blood running into her eyes and squinted up at the crew. Becky was staring at her with pure surprise, her eyes wide and her brow raised. Dorothy dramatically had a hand over her gaping mouth and was clutching a rat like mutt to her chest, Scarecrow who didn't look anything like a Scarecrow in a blazer and jeans was kneeling close to her and Tinman looked horrified, meeting the Wicked Witch of the West. As for Lion….he was nowhere to be seen.

"Christ," said the girl with more disbelief than fear. "You…were you trying to shoot me or something?"

"I would have done that long ago." she said and moved to stand but felt hands haul her up to her feet. It was the Scarecrow, she realized.

The girl continued, recovering from the shock of the Witch's unexpected appearance. "So then like…..what're you doing here with a _gun_?"

That was confidential and she had no obligation to answer the girl. She was humiliated, bleeding all over her shirt and being kept upright by the Scarecrow who had a hand on her shoulder.

"Do you mind?" she snapped at him in an attempt to preserve her dignity and he let go.

"Just don't want to have to drive you to a hospital again." _said Fiyero in that joking, boyish tone._ Why must her life be so plagued? She sighed heavily and reached down to pick up the thankfully undamaged rifle. The crew had no idea what she was doing there and neither did her target for he suddenly came up to her, puffing his chest out and walking on two legs which looked out right ridiculous.

"I'm not afraid of you ya old Witch!"

"Why in hell are you talking like a hill billy?" she muttered half to herself, seeing no reason for discretion and the Lion visibly deflated. _This_ was the Lion who raped the Ivory Tiger Princess? Did she misread the description?

"Hey look out!" exclaimed Becky with sudden urgency. She looked where the girl was pointing and nearly fainted at the sight of a car black automobile rushing towards her once again.

**Please Review.**


	21. Chapter 21

I detected movement out of the corner of my eye and glanced down the Yellow Brick Road to see a black, boxy 1930s automobile coming towards us. I kept my eye on it, expecting it to slow down and grew uneasy when it didn't. I figured it would have looked foolish to create a commotion if in the end the car just past us so I kept quiet. But it continued to drive, not slowing down – in fact it looked to be speeding up….headed directly towards the Witch it seemed.

"Um…" I stepped forwards to be noticed, still unsure of the driver's intentions but it was definitely not stopping – "Hey look out!" I cried at the last moment when I was sure. My mind suddenly flashed back to the earlier crash as the scene replayed in front of me. The Witch stood there like a deer in headlights, her eyes wide and her face rapidly paling as the car sped towards her. I felt like lunging forward to grab the Witch and pull her the hell away but somehow couldn't bring myself to be so bold.

"For Lurine's sake, get out of the way!" screamed Scarecrow who then to everyone's amazement grabbed the Witch around the waist and hauled her backwards just as the car sped past them, the wheels inches from the Witch's toes. We all watched in fearful, curios anticipation as the car stopped, the door opened and a man stepped out dressed in black, cotton pants and a dark demin jacket with the collar crooked. He turned around to face us and I felt my jaw drop in astonishment, my fear evaporating.

"Oh. My. God" I said, deadpan. "You know, you're even worse than those creepy face book guys."

"But how can you're face be a book?" asked Dorothy, looking up at me with her signature innocent, quizzical expression. I just pretended not to hear.

Frex said nothing in response and began marching forwards, his face like a dark cloud, unchanging and pissed as ever. But why is that? What did I do? I slipped my hands into my jeans pockets, trying to feel nonchalant as Frex came rapidly closer, his pale, icy eyes fixed on me…and the Witch.

"Hey uh…." I was trying to find a way to be civil when Frex came in front of me and the Witch. "Um Frex –"

"AHHHH!" screeched the Witch, throwing her hands up as Frex reached into his sleeve and suddenly a wooden 2 by 4 appeared in his clenched fist. It was all happening so quickly, I could hardly comprehend any of it until the moment I heard the _swish – crack!_ Of wood hitting the Witch's raised arms, the shock, knocking her down.

"You bitch!" seethed Frex, towering over the Witch. "Did you really expect to escape from me? After all the crap I've had to put up with?" he gripped the end of the stick with both hands and raised them high above his head like a guy chopping wood. The Witch sat there seemingly stunned in into a stupor, looking up at the stick, blood dripping into her wide, brown eyes and her hands uselessly at her sides, clutching the ground.

I saw a blur of wood as Frex smacked the stick down on the Witch's blanked out head. She jerked at the impact then swayed like a drunkard before flopping sideways onto the dirty, yellow brick. Frex had gotten himself hyped up and now reminded me of a bull with his nostrils flared, the once cold, creepy expression in his eyes replaced by the look of a crazed, deprived maniac. This guy was going to kill her!

"Get up Witch!" he growled, his voice low and contorted with the effort to contain himself. I wasn't sure what to do in this situation. It was against my morals to simply stand by and watch a person get killed…..but then again, this 'person' happened to be a Witch – but still! And so I found myself striding – no. I was running towards the man, my arms outstretched as he raised the stick to strike the Witch again.

"Becky don't!" I heard Dorothy cry as to my horror, I flung myself at Frex, leaning forwards and tackling him around the waist like a foot ball player. We tumbled to forwards, almost landing on the Witch and I fell on top of him, my knees digging into his spleen. The man bucked like a horse, throwing me off.

Where is everyone? I thought frantically. Why aren't they helping?

I glanced around and saw Scarecrow leaning by the Witch, attempting to shake her awake for some reason. Honestly, this would be a lot less complicated if she'd just stay like that. I couldn't see Dorothy or Tinman and Lion was probably loitering around the trees, cowering. That son of a bitch.

I rolled onto my back to see Frex reaching for his stick. Without thinking, I instinctively defended myself, planting my foot into the side of his face, causing him to yelp and jerk backwards. I quickly got to my feet and looked around for my comrades who were finally –

"Lion wait a sec –"

_WHACK!_

Lion had swung the flat side of Tinman's axe into Frex's head, red spraying onto yellow brick. Frex was knocked out and I stood there, shocked at the Lion's sudden display of courage and horrified that there were now two dead looking bodies with head injuries lying in the middle of a well used national icon of a highway.

"Why the _hell did you do that?"_ I roared in panic and Lion froze, clutching the axe like a child caught doing something they weren't suppose to.

"But I – I thought I was helping." he stuttered in an attempt to be defensive.

"There're two bleeding bodies lying in the middle of a national highway! What're we suppose to do about that?"

"Well why don't we put them in your automobile and drive them –

"NO!" screeched Dorothy, Scarecrow and myself. For a moment we were at a loss, trying to formulate a solution to our predicament. To my distaste, I found myself thinking like a criminal, running through examples of murders and the basic principles used in disposing bodies, how to hide them and such. But then again, one the best ways to get away with something is to be bold – do the unexpected or….or make it look like something else like a burglary or something.

"You know what, I'm going to make this look like a mugging." I declared.

They all looked at me with identical, stunned expressions that under any other circumstance would have been comical. I decided it would be best to ignore them and bent down by Frex who had fallen face down by the curb, blood pooling around his head. But he wasn't dead – I could see him breathing. I knelt down by his legs, refusing to be cowed and slipped my hand into his pants pocket, feeling for loose change or keys or something. I felt my fingers close around a hard, smooth, leathery thing that turned out to be a wallet. This is so classic.

"Do think we should take his ID off him?" I asked, not sure what their reactions would be.

"Um….." said Dorothy to my great surprise. "I…..I guess."

Feeling like a criminal…which I kind of was by now, I opened his wallet, pocketed some paper money and found his driver's licences and health card. I peered at his licence, suddenly curious at the identity of the man who just tried to kill us. His name was Frexpar T. Thropp, Age: 62. I was surprised to find, his driver's license had no magnetic strip on the back. It was just a card with a swirly hologram. Maybe strips were not invented yet.

"Uh Becky." said Scarecrow behind me. "You'd want to look up now."

"What – oh hell." It was Glinda, descending to the ground her pink bubble. Before I could react further, she materialized, dressed in the same outrageous bright pink gown, carrying her wand in her gloved hand.

"Is he here? Am I too late?" she shrieked before catching sight of me. "What the_ hell is this?"_ she practically screamed and I cringed.

"Uhhhh…..hi." I said. I tried to imagine what I must have looked like to Glinda, kneeling next to an unconscious, bleeding man and leafing through a wallet.

"Oh my god!" Glinda exclaimed in stunned disbelief. "You're a teenage mugger?"

"No I –"

"And what are _they_ doing?" she motioned to the rest of the crew, standing by at a loss. "And what did you do to the Witch?"

"She like fell out of a tree and got hit in the head twice."

"How did you do _that?"_

"Not me – it was Frex over here." I motioned towards the man on I was kneeling by and Glinda's eyes went wide as saucers.

"Frexpar Thropp?"

"Err…yeah…" How does everyone knows each other? I wondered when I heard a woman groan behind me. I turned around, wondering if the Witch would be thankful at the sight of her attacker taken out or if she'd go into another one of her unpredictable rages like when we first met in Munchkinland. The Witch had rolled over onto her back, cringing in discomfort and Glinda rushed over to her the best she could under the weight of that ridiculous gown, her face stricken with concern as she knelt down, looking like a giant mass of pink…..fluff. Scarecrow seemed hesitant at first but then walked over and joined Glinda on the ground, his handsome, cloth face set in a sort of quizzical expression.

The Witch opened her eyes halfway and squinted up at Scarecrow.

"Fiyero?" she whispered.

"I don't think so." muttered Scarecrow, exchanging glances with Glinda who peered at him. He quickly looked away, staring down at the Witch so the brim of his hat concealed his face.

As Scarecrow and Glinda helped the Witch into a sitting position, I turned my attention to Frex who still hadn't moved. It was beginning to worry me. I walked over to him and forced myself to inspect the gash on his head. The general outline of the wound was obscured by blood and I really couldn't tell how bad it was. But then again, he was hit in the head by a freaking _Lion_ who swung the flat side an axe into him. I mean people can die from that can't they? I bent over despite my squeamishness. At least Frex was breathing…I think.

"WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?"screeched the Witch and I nearly pissed myself. I must look so bad right now.

I decided to try diplomacy. "I can totally -"

"You again?" the Witch cried like she was sick of me.

"N – Not me." I stuttered, waving my palms in front of me in a pardoning gesture. "It actually wasn't me! It was the Lion."

"I didn't mean to." whimpered the Lion, emerging from behind a tree, wringing his tail.

"Of course you didn't –" began Dorothy when I cut her off.

"You _didn't mean to?"_ I exclaimed in disbelief. "What d' you mean, you didn't mean to? You swung an axe into his head!"

"What are you doing with his wallet?" demanded the Witch, managing to sound accusing even while being helped up by Glinda and Scarecrow.

"I – I thought I was going to make this look like a mugging or something." I replied and quickly stood up, dropping the wallet while the Witch staggered over with uncharacteristic worry on her face. She came beside me, uncomfortably close and peered at Frex, lightly nudging him with her foot. She was wearing black sneakers with laces.

"Shit, how is he not waking up?" the Witch cried. "My brother…."

"Wait, you have a brother –"

"Were you born to plague my life? The Witch shrieked, suddenly whirling around and I recoiled fearfully, shuffling backwards. "You kill my sister, steal my shoes, shoot my eye out then fucking _RUN ME OVER_ and give a godamned half a million dollar debt -"

"WHAT?"squealed Glinda, her voice rising higher than ever.

"This is none of your concern, Glinda." The Witch growled but Glinda pressed on.

"None of my – do you even know how much money that is?"

"Of course I do!"

"Do you? Did you know five years ago, the Quadling Association of E Coli Research managed to raise a hundred thousand dollars in a _year? _And that was considered an event!_"_ To my amazement, the Witch was stumped, her retaliative demur morphing into shock as the reality of her predicament finally began to dawn on her. She was screwed because of my carelessness in driving.

I awkwardly raised my hand to say, "I'm paying for some of it."

"And we can ask the Wizard!" exclaimed Dorothy.

The situation seemed to have humbled the great Wicked Witch, evoking somewhat honest, unwilling emotions and forcing me to become associated with her in a more mutual manner. I found myself more sympathetic than fearful and more sheepish than sympathetic at the Witch's crisis. Her claim of me plaguing her life was true, I realized. My house landed on her sister – there's no denying that, I'm stuck with her shoes, I carelessly ran her over and gave her the hugest medical bill in history! And I think Frex had lapsed into a coma although I have yet to find out what his relation with the Witch is. Disasters really do bring people close, I decided.

The Witch stood by the body of Frex, hanging her head at a loss. And Scarecrow put a steadying hand on her shoulder.

**Reviews are greatly appreciated!**


	22. Chapter 22

It was mid day when the Witch walked through the front doors of Kiamo Ko, boldly carrying a rifle across her shoulder, not caring if Liir or anyone saw her. It didn't seem to matter anymore.

She was doomed. Nest Hardings General Hospital was probably going to sue any day now and it was beyond her capabilities to come up with five hundred thousand dollars. The last thing she wanted to do was go to one of those back street loaning co-operations, she could end up homeless or even dead, tossed in a gutter and left to rot. She'd rather die in a more dignified way. And there was no way she could keep up with the interest rates.

Glinda had called upon an ambulance for Frexpar with her prototype 'cell phone' that was about the size of a thick novel. Turns out, Frex literally had a dent in the side of his head and had lapsed into a coma. The Witch wondered with little concern what her thirty year old brother was going to do now that his source of income was no longer in commission.

She found couldn't hate Frex nor could she love him. She had always thought of him as an unpleasant roommate or if she wanted to amuse herself; a cranky house cat, striking her as a pathetic substitute for intellect. So she'd mock him for it, lying on the ground while Frex stood above her like the unevolved caveman he was, his belt wrapped around his fist, looking down at her in fury and fear as she'd burst in peals of high pitched laughter, holding her sides and pointing up at him, cackling until tears began to run down her face.

_How like a toddler_ she thought to herself, a smirk creeping onto her face. _Throwing a tantrum like spoiled child – a sorry excuse for expression. It's hilarious coming from a sixty year old _priest_ of all things!_

A voice dragged her back to the present.

"What in Oz happened to you're face?" shrieked Liir who had suddenly appeared in front of her. She could really do without this.

"That's irrelevant to you." muttered the Witch and went to move past him but he drove on hysterically.

"And why do you have a gun? Did you kill someone –"

"Really Liir," snapped the Witch, silencing him. "You pick the most inconvenient moments to develop character. Save yourself the trouble of speculation and leave me in peace will you?"

He didn't sulk at her remark like he used to. Instead he muttered. "Whatever." and rolled his eyes before marching past her with as much dignity as he could muster. But he didn't completely forget her for he curiously glanced over his shoulder as the Witch continued to shuffle towards her room, her arms dangling at her sides and her head drooping like a sleepy drunkard.

_What happened to her this time?_ He wondered, remembering a few months ago when he found the Witch lying on a black, leather couch in the east den, curled up and covered in stale bandages over her legs, her arm and head and all over her torso. She was dressed in a hospital uniform; white, slightly baggy pants and a loose white shirt, stained with grime and atmosphere. He called Nanny over who shook her head at the sight of her charge and sent Liir to fetch an extra mattress which he put against the couch so the Witch could easily be lowered. For days the Witch tossed and moaned in the sheets, dreaming of an accident and feeling the results until she was finally able to sit up then stand.

Liir walked up to his chambers and went to the cupboard where he kept a newspaper clipping of the Witch's accident. The headline was clear, blunt and unimaginative, reading:

**Wicked Witch of the West: A Hit and Run Victim.**

The Witch was a mystery to him, one which he strove to solve out of…..well he couldn't say he cared for the wretched woman for he held no sympathy towards her no matter what her predicament. He held himself guilty for that. He was probably just bored, desperate for a game of some sort. And he considered this clipping clue, a glimpse of the world outside the stone walls that isolated him.

Nanny appeared at his open door.

"Has our Elphie got herself in a spot of trouble again?" she asked and Liir nodded, not taking his eyes of the paper, the grainy photo of the girl, Becky was it? She was exotic, he'd give her that. With a strange yet flattering hair cut with low bangs that highlighted her eyes and long, straight hair that framed her heart shaped face. She was trying to avoid the camera, her head in the motion of turning away and her hand halfway to covering her face.

He heard Nanny sigh dramatically, desperate for attention probably.

"I'm calling for a doctor." she muttered.

"Or better yet, a physiatrist." said Liir, half joking. He was picking up the Witch's sarcasm it seemed.

* * *

"You know, you have got to be the unluckiest person in Oz." said Fitz. He was kneeling in front of Elphaba who was seated on the edge of the bed, one arm, the one linked to the fractured collar resting limp on her lap and the other being used as a kickstand, making her posture crooked. Although he'd never admit it, he quite liked being Elphaba's doctor – to see such a fiery character in such a humbling position, making her suddenly dependant. Dependant on him.

"I am not a person." she replied.

"You're enough of a person to require a doctor."

"Whatever." she mumbled, not in the mood to argue.

"Now, are you going to be good this time?" he asked, grinning as he remembered their first encounter.

"Long as you don't give me any orange pills."

He examined the cut above her eye and was surprised how artificially straight it was, a thin, red line against her emerald skin. He shined a penlight into the eye below the cut, searching for any signs of sensitivity such as tearing, blinking or verbal complaints. He moved the light left to right then up and down to test for movement without pain. She seemed fine but symptoms can always occur later on. He'll give her his number in case anything came up.

"Well there doesn't seem to be any damage done to the eye." he said

"There doesn't _seem _to be any damage." Elphaba repeated. He knew she'd pick that up.

"For now at least. Symptoms tend to occur later so you can give me a call if anything comes up – I'll give you my number later."

He reached into his briefcase and retrieved a bottle of peroxide and a roll of gauze. He cut two strips one of which he dipped in the peroxide and placed it over the cut. The other acted as a cover.

"Fitz I…I'm not sure if I'll be able to pay you for this."

"Oh yeah, cause of Nest Hardings."

"Yes I owe them…..quite an impossible sum." For a moment she hesitated before choosing to admit it. "I have a debt of five hundred thousand dollars and they're already sending red bills."

Fitz felt himself freeze and he had to remind himself to keep his hands working. But wasn't surprised, after all Elphaba had been hit by an amazing, alien automobile that must have been driving at over ninety kilometres an hour – the speed of a cheetah! Or Cheetah. She had to be scraped off the Yellow Brick Road and was brought to the hospital in a hysterical mess, requiring numerous surgeries, antibiotics (sometimes eight dollars a needle!), tests, the service of numerous doctors and nurses and of course a room. But five hundred _thousand_ dollars was just disastrous beyond telling!

"Well…..shit, do you eve have a job?"

"I do." she replied and he waited for her to go on but she left it at that. It was probably best he didn't know.

He unbuttoned her shirt and slowly pulled her defective arm out of its sleeve so half of her torso was left exposed. He observed in what he decided to be a doctorly manner, Elphaba's overall physical state, the flowing shape of her muscles, the flatness of her stomach, the curve of her side, her chest and the purplish, protruding ridge of fractured bone. He leaned closer and reached out, trailing his fingers along the edge of the bruise, noticing the warmth of her and the tenderness of her bruised skin. He felt her tense reflexively as he ran the flat of his palm upwards, curling around the nape of her neck, then pressing down the arch of her spine, following the smooth, flowing shape of it, searching.

"How do you feel?" he asked, his breath warm and whistling in her ear. She said nothing.


	23. Chapter 23

"That was a disaster." I declared. It's funny when people state the obvious.

Lion was wringing his tail in his paws when he said in a quiet voice, "I didn't mean to hit him –"

"Shut up!_"_

"Do you think the Witch knew that man?" asked Dorothy, wide eyed as ever and I shrugged.

"Well the Witch is a huge public enemy." I replied. "Like it wouldn't be surprising if someone was out to get her – I mean the whole of Oz is just waiting for her to die or something. It's like Osama Bin Laden."

"Who's Osama Bin Laden?"

Oh you are kidding me. "_Who's_ Osama Bin Laden?" I repeated in utter disbelief. I sort of get not knowing about Face book and touch screens but this was ridiculous! "He's like the most famous…..you know that 9/11 thing?"

Dorothy stared at me blankly through the mirror.

"Like when terrorists bombed the twin towers…"

"Oh." said Dorothy slowly. "… okay."

I could see a clearing and continued to drive, anxious to be out of this wrecked forest. Then like a rainbow emerging from a storm, we came across a huge field of red flowers – poppies I think. There were rolling hills of poppies literally as far as the eye could see, stretching from east to west…which is actually kind of ironic come to think of it.

It was a spectacular sight although the Emerald City actually looked like any other city with a mass of tall, boxy buildings of varying heights and widths, towering over a green gate that reminded me of the Great Wall of China. Except everything was green.

"There's the Emerald City!" exclaimed Dorothy with a childish enthusiasm and I resisted the urge to say _Duh._ "Oh we're almost there at last!"

"You know I wonder if there was like a commuter's bus or something we could have taken." I said half jokingly. Why do these things always occur to me _afterwards? _I mean none of this would have happened if I thought of sooner!

"Oh it's beautiful! It's just like I knew it would be." continued Dorothy. She's like that double rainbow guy. "He really must be a Wonderful Wizard to live in a place like that!"

"Actually, Hitler lived in a mansion."

Luckily my car had four wheel drive and we drove across the field of poppies. I was kind of fun driving off the road, it gives a sense of liberty.

"Is there anywhere to park?" I asked Scarecrow. Actually he hardly qualified as a Scarecrow anymore with that outfit besides the hat.

"I think you can park anywhere." he replied and so I stopped the car by the side of the green gate, not bothering with parallel parking. We all stepped out, stretching our legs to rid of that heavy feeling before walking up to what looked like a counter with a rolled down cover. I pulled down the old fashioned bell and gave it gave an impressive, echoing gong sound.

The counter cover was slid up by a little rat of a man dressed in a green version of those London soldiers with the fur hats.

"Who rang that bell?" he asked and I was shocked to find his speech accented. It sounded German or maybe Russian?

"Uh that was me." I said plainly which earned me a disapproving look from the guard. But after all that's happened, I really don't give a shit.

"Well can't you read?" exclaimed the doorman.

"Yeah." _But not German. _

"Then read the sign!"

"I would if there was a sign."

"What - well its right…" he trailed off when realized he was pointing at green wall with a nail sticking out. He tusked and went behind the counter to retrieve a piece of green cardboard before hanging it on the wall. He slid the cover shut.

The sign read: Glocke aus der Reihenfolge. Bitte klopfen Sie.

And underneath:

Bell out of order. Please knock.

"Fucking unbelievable." I muttered and furiously pounded on the metallic cover. The moron opened it, completely changing his demur to a more professionally friendly look.

"Well that's more like it!" he said approvingly when he saw my scowling face. "Now state your business!"

"We'd like to go in – actually would it be possible to book an appointment or something with Glinda?"

"But I thought we were going to see the Wizard." said Dorothy.

"Yeah but Glinda was suppose to set that up and I don't know if she did. Plus I have a few things to discuss." I turned back to the doorman. "So…"

"What business does a child have with Lady Glinda?" he asked, suddenly suspicious.

"I'm the kid that landed on the Witch of the East or whatever the bitch's name was. I have her shoes." He looked down and nearly fell when he saw those blasted Ruby Slippers.

"Oh so she is!" he exclaimed happily. "Well bust my buttons, why didn't you say so in the first place-"

"Kay, are you going to let us in or not?" I snapped then stopped, internally cringing. "Uh sorry, it's been a long trip – I…sorry."

"No worries…come in." and he clicked a button under the counter. The opening of the doors was quite grand. It was a pair of double doors as tall as the gate that slid inwards with a sort of rumbling noise. I nodded curtly at the doorman who beamed back at me as we stepped into the Emerald City. It sort of reminded me of that time I went to Ottawa for a school trip, the excitement of a new city, the reformatting of familiar tall buildings, allies, parks and roads….

A horse driven carriage appeared from around the corner and I almost couldn't believe it when the pot bellied driver said:

"Cabby, cabby! Just one you're looking for!" he looked down at me, grinning. "Take you any place in the City we does!"

"Uh wow, great." I stuttered. If it wasn't for that doorman, I'd say the service was almost Japanese. "Could you take us to see Glinda?"

"Glinda?" he said quizzically. "Why would you need to see Glinda?"

"Cause she was going to set me up with the Wizard and I don't know if she did. Also the shoes she gave me don't friggin _come off._"

"Oh…." he seemed taken aback. "Sure but first I'll take to a place where you folks can tidy up a bit."

"Great – wait, for how much?"

"Why on the house of course! Anything for the great saviours!"

I paused, waiting for a catch but then Dorothy said, "Oh thank you so much! We've been gone such a long time and we feel so messy."

Christ the girl is naïve. Or perhaps just a child.

We clambered into the back seat of the cab, miraculously fitting a Lion, two grown men as well as Dorothy and myself. And the rat dog, Dodo or something. As I sank back into the green cushions, I suddenly realized how tired I was although it didn't surprise me. After all, I was the only person who knew how to drive…somewhat and I had just gone from Munchkinland to the centre of Oz! The rest of the crew were chatting away like school girls, gazing and pointing in awe at the green version of downtown Ottawa, the numerous shops, cafés, fast food joints and the wonder of glass paned co-operate buildings. The Emerald City seemed to be sort of a German speaking multicultural centre. There were four foot tall Munchkin business men and women, dressed in conservative white shirts and blazers with messenger bags slung across their torsos, a mass of pale skinned, giggling college kids, a middle aged Quadling busker, strumming a guitar like instrument and belting a jazzy tune. There were groups of youthful cockney Animals in cotton and demin clothing, wearing their caps cocked to the side, grumbling and grinning jauntily at human passerbys, leaping in front of them and holding out their caps for change.

And young men with army hair cuts and green uniforms, marching the streets, chatting in German.

"Hey Scarecrow?" I asked. "What language do people speak here?"

"Gillikin."

We came to a stop by what looked to be a hotel. It was a modern, tall, rectangular shaped building with an exterior made up entirely of green stained glass and black marble. On the roof was a logo with an illuminated green diamond and the words EMERALD TOWERS placed across in black. Guess the place isn't Gillikin owned. We got out of the carriage, walked up the wide steps to the revolving doors (except Lion who had to use the automatic) and up to the counter where we checked in.

A youngish bellboy with an overly wide grin led us to our suite, walking stiffly in his starched, green tailcoat uniform.

It was kind of ironic that everything Oz's capital city was _green_ of all colours. The Witch would have made a great career here! She could have a spokesperson.

"Hier ist Ihr Zimmer. said the bellboy then caught himself. "Here – is – your…your voom." and he opened the door. I was quite taken aback at the extravagance of the place – it was basically a loft apartment. In front of the door was a living space with a green plush carpet, a black L shaped couch facing a gas fireplace and a set of wide, winding, carpeted stairs that seemed to spring up from the floor like a vine, leading to the upper levels. But what was most impressive was that an entire side of wall was made of fibre glass, allowing a stunning view of the city below.

"Your vooms are upstairs." continued the bellboy. "You may…..send your cloths to be washing before….before to be meeting Lady Glinda." he nodded curtly and marched out the door without even stopping for a tip! Or are tips not a thing in Oz?

"Why isn't this grand!" said Tinman, looking around. I wonder if it's possible for him to use an elevator. I mean he must weigh over 300 pounds!

"Let's see upstairs!" exclaimed Dorothy with that wide eyed look of excitement. Tinman and Lion followed her as she bounded up the spiral stairs while Scarecrow went and stood by the window, his hands in his jeans pockets and his head bowed as he gazed below.

I walked up and stood beside him, curious. He's always so sullen, this guy.

"You been around Oz much?" I asked after a moment of silence.

"The Wizard is bloody tyrant!" he spat as if the words had a bad taste in his mouth and I felt myself flinch at his tone. Then before I could reply, he turned sharply and headed upstairs, leaving me standing there in shocked wonder.

…..

I was given a call in the morning, telling me to go to Emerald Palace and have myself escorted to Glinda's office.

So I got directions from the front desk and walked headed out the door, eager to see more of the City. It honestly was like any other city I've been to, minus the language with people rushing here and there, hobos sitting near subway entrances and the noise of automobiles trudging along the road. Except when I looked on the map, it labelled a red light district.

I got to the gate of the Emerald Palace that was shaped like a green, Muslim temple with domed roofs and spikes protruding from every surface. I went up to a booth at the side of the gate and introduced myself. The guard clicked a button and the double doors slid inwards to reveal a courtyard with another guard standing by who waved at me to come over.

He escorted me through the palace, up an endless, winding staircase, through the green marble corridors and finally to a door. He knocked and the door was swept open as if it were automatic.

I walked into Glinda's office, taken aback at the grandeur of it all. It looked like a living room with green carpet, a couch, a fireplace some, black, granite shelves and an L shaped desk made of green glass which Glinda herself was seated at, dressed surprisingly casual in a pink skirt and blazer.

"Have a seat." said Glinda formally, motioning towards a green office chair with wheels across from her. I sat down, feeling awkward and said:

"So I was wondering about the Wizard….."

"Oh yes!" exclaimed Glinda. "Yes, he'll be….willing to meet you folks, yes. I'll have some people bring you to him once he's ready."

"And you're not wearing a wire this time are you?" It was a joke I'm not sure it came out right.

"No Miss Becky I'm not. Anything else?"

"Yeah, uh I really need you to take these shoes off me." It was creepy walking around in a dead woman's shoes, especially a dead woman that I some level _killed_.

"Of course." she blanched at the prospect which made me uneasy. "Madame Morrible and I have personally been working on that."

"Great, great. So like…..can you take them off?"

"All in good time." she flashed me a stiff grin and I felt like banging my head on the table. I wouldn't be surprised if the Wizard himself turned out to be a retard. Or a tyrant…..

"That's uh….that not really reassuring - like this is kinda a huge thing." But really this was becoming something of a disaster. I can't live with a pair of fancy shoes on me my entire life! I'll be like one of those Chinese women with bound feet - what was Glinda thinking sticking a teenage girl with shoes that a Witch was after? And hell, these shoes are _magical_ – I could say something and end up exploding like a land mine victim!

Once I get rid of these shoes, I never want to see them again; in fact I'll probably just give them to the Witch…..or sell them.

"But there's no need to worry." said Glinda, twirling her wand in her fingers.

"Lady Glinda, I've been worried this entire freakin trip. Like the Witch is pissed enough with me running her over and you know, these shoes are just adding to it."

"Right but by taking them off, you lose protection –"

"Bullshit, I almost got mowed over by a Lion!"

"Alright, alright I understand but we're doing all we can at the moment."

"You people are unbelievable sometimes, you know that?"

"Yes."

I stopped short and blinked for a moment. Did she actually just say that? Glinda looked back at me, that bubbly, wide eyed look replaced with a totally deadpan expression.

"You really are unbelievable." I said finally and Glinda sighed tiredly.

"I know. Did you want anything else?"

"Clarification was all." I replied coldly and stood, followed by Glinda who silently led me to the door.

"You'll probably be called sometime in a week or so." said Glinda as I stepped out into the hall.

"Great. – oh wait!" I suddenly remembered. "Do you know that guy, Frex?" Glinda seemed to freeze, her hand clenched around the door knob.

"He…..he was my roommate's father." she slammed the door before I could reply.

* * *

**please review!**


	24. Chapter 24

We were called down to the Wizard's throne room late in the evening at about nine o clock.

"Oh isn't this grand!" said Dorothy, her eyes all lit up. "I've never been out this late before – and in a city!"

"Interested in some night life are ya?" said Scarecrow with one of his rare, charming grins.

There actually weren't that many people out which surprised me considering it was only nine in the evening. They seemed rushed, as rushed as they were getting to work that morning. The only people milling about were hobos, a few drunkards, yelling in the street corner and couple of Gale forcers, boarding up a shop entrance. They were spray painting something onto the wood and I made a note to take a look when I passed. Scarecrow crossed the street when we neared them but I still caught sight of the word:

VERRÄTER

"Mean's traitor." said Scarecrow when he saw me staring.

"Oh. Who's the traitor then?"

Scarecrow shrugged. "Another Animal I suppose."

"Serves then right!" declared Tinman cheerfully, without any discretion for Lion stared at him angrily.

The guards at the Emerald Palace made a fuss when we got there, shouting orders, running to notify people of our arrival all while remembering to smile and nod friendlily at us. It was quite impressive.

"The Wizard will see you now." said a breathless guard, planting his seemingly pointless staff on the ground as a kind of salute before leading us to the entrance of the Wizard's Chambers. It reminded me of a green, shiny church entrance…or maybe more like a cathedral. It was a huge, green domed double door with a functioning, decorative handle laced in gold paint or perhaps actual gold? Anyway, it was a hell of a door.

Lion seemed hesitant as the doors opened to a wide, green domed tunnel with a barely visible exit at the other end. We stepped inside on the green floor; the texture of porcelain tiles except it was all one piece. I looked up at the impressive ceiling, the curved, green support beams, carved to become part of the décor with deep, swirly patterns all over them.

"Wait a minute fellas." said Lion.

"Did you forget something?" I asked but then noticed him wringing his tail and the darting look in his eyes. Oh this was unbelievable!

"I – I was just thinking." he continued. "I really don't want to see the Wizard this much. Um m – maybe I'd better wait outside." He began to turn away but Scarecrow held him back.

"What's the matter?" he said although he didn't sound sympathetic.

"Oh he's just scared again." said Tinman but his knees were shaking slightly.

"Don't you know the Wizard's going to give you some courage?" said Dorothy in a coddling voice.

Lion seemed to be shrinking inside and he said. "I – I'd be too scared to ask him for it."

"Lion we scheduled an appointment." I said. "It's kinda late to cancel." To my dismay and disbelief, Lion began to sob like a child on their way to a flu shot.

"I think I'll wait outside." he turned to leave but Dorothy grasped his arm.

"But why?" she asked.

"Because I'm still scared!"

"Lion, if you go through with this, I'll buy you a fucking lollipop or something." I suddenly realized, I was only half joking. Or maybe I'll buy him Bacardi.

The door at the end of the tunnel suddenly gave a creak – or not a creak, a loud groan, almost human. It suddenly flung open with a _bang_ and a low voice called. "COME FORWARD!"

Scarecrow and I exchanged glances, our brows raised while everyone else recoiled in surprise and fear. This really seemed kind of _much_ in my opinion. We ventured forward into the Wizard's throne room…..that was empty. It basically looked like one big, empty lobby with a high platform in the middle with torches surrounding the perimeter. I was about to call out for the Wizard when a projection came flickering into focus, hovering over the platform as…...a giant, bald green head. It was stunningly high resolution to the extent of being disconcerting. The projection was of a skull like face, as if the skin had been shrink-wrapped over the bone, creating sharp cheekbones and a deep, brooding brow that highlighted the colorless eyes, the pupils a making scarily bold contrast to the whites.

I never would have guessed we'd be meeting the Wizard's digital rep. This is going to be some teleconference!

"I AM OZ! THE GREAT AND POWERFUL!" boomed the projection, the voice echoing around the room, making everyone flinch.

"Can you lower the volume?" I shouted, not sure if the speakers could pick my voice.

"YOU DARE SHOUT AT THE WIZARD OF OZ?"

"What – no!" I lowered my voice to speak normally. "Sorry, I wasn't sure if the speakers would -"

"WHO ARE YOU?"

For a moment, I was thrown. Doesn't he know? "Uh, we're that crew…..well we had an appointment."

"SILENCE!"

"Christ, make up your mind." I knew in the back of my mind, that was a dumb thing to say but…some things just need to be said.

"I AM THE GREAT AND POWERFUL OZ!" said the Great and Powerful Oz's digital rep. "I KNOW WHY YOU HAVE COME! STEP FORWARD TINMAN!"

Tinman crept forward timidly, looking like he was having a seizure, his steps visible shaking and his joints clattering noisily. He was looking up at the Wizard in fearful awe. "Yes your Wizardness?"

"YOU DARE TO COME TO ME FOR A HEART DO YOU? YOU CLINKY, CLANKERING, CLATTERING COLLECTION OF CALIGINOUS JUNK?" flames bust from the torches and I could feel a flash warmth against my face, making me flinch.

"Y – Yes your honour." he stuttered. "See…..a while back we were driving down the yellow brick road and –"

"QUIET!"

Tinman gave a yelp and practically ran back in line, shaking more than ever. I suddenly remembered Scarecrow's words _The Wizard is a bloody tyrant!" _He seemed so convicted when he said it, a sudden, shocking passion. I looked over at him. He was standing there casually, his hands in his blazer pockets, his knees locked and the brim of his hat ducked slightly but not enough to hide his deadpan face, unchanging and the eyes unfocused and far away. As for Lion…I should have gotten him piss drunk before this. What's the legal drinking age in Oz? I could use a drink.

"AND YOU SCARECROW!" Scarecrow walked forward, not looking up. "YOU HAVE THE AFFRONTORY TO ASK FOR A BRAIN YOU BILLOWING BALE OF BULL WEED BOTHER!"

Scarecrow glared at the Wizard the way a school boy would glare at a bully. "I ask for memories." he seethed, his hands clenched in his pockets. "For personal records and documents of my life -"

"ENOUGH!"

"Motherfucker." muttered Scarecrow, marching back to us. I stared at him questioningly but he didn't look up.

"AND THE LION?" _The_ Lion as if Lion was a thing. Lion whimpered and instead of bolting out of there actually shuffled forwards. "WELL?"

Then oh shit! The bastard fainted, dropped backwards as if the life had been sucked out of him…..what if it was a heart attack? It seemed unlikely for he was a young guy but stranger things have happened, the whole of Oz was just one weird ass collection of weirder ass people and places. I peered down at Lion. He just fainted.

"How could you?" shouted Dorothy, shocking everyone. "Frightening him when he came to you for help!"

"SILENCE WHIPPERSNAPPER!" Dorothy recoiled as fire burst from torches. It was starting to smell like gasoline. "THE BENEFICENT OZ HAS EVERY DESIRE TO GRANT YOUR WISHES!"

"Then what the fuck was all of that?" I stood up furiously. "I wouldn't be surprised if you turned out to be a tyrant –"

"QUIET INCOMPETENT GIRL! IF YOU WANT TO GET HOME –"

"Actually I have one more request." Everyone stared at me curiously, even Lion who woke up. "I wish for five hundred thousand dollars." _I wish for five hundred thousand dollars._ I sound like a kid in a fairytale.

The projection paused for a moment. "AN EXTORTIONIST!" he bellowed and I shrugged. "BUT FIRST YOU MUST PROVE YOURSELVES WORTHY BY PERFORMING A VERY SMALL TASK."

"Like community service?" I asked and was ignored. Again.

"BRING ME THE BROOMSTICK OF THE WICKED WITCH OF THE WEST!"

I stared at him in shock, speechless in disbelief then sudden impending anger. He's just like Glinda! Why hell would he want to send _us_? Two kids, a failed, hypervigilant Lion, and two talking statues that were as good as citizens. And the rat dog.

Tinman seemed as shocked as I was and began to stutter. "B - b - but we'll have to kill her to get it!"

"And why do need a Witch's broom?" I shouted.

The projection hesitated for a split second. "THAT IS NONE OF YOUR CONCERN!"

"It's every concern to us if we're the ones getting it! And why would you send us? Don't you have a military or something?"

"LEAVE!"

"And if we'll fail, it'll be your loss and you'll be left to explain how 'the great saviours' died –"

"THE GREAT AND POWERFUL OZ SAID LEAVE!"

"You didn't even bother to show up yourself and left us with your digital rep –"

I felt a sudden impact as if someone punched me in the chest and we were all literally flung out the door, landing on our backs. Thank god I'm sixteen. I groaned and sat up, ignoring the tightness in my chest.

I wonder if the Witch keeps extra brooms.


	25. Chapter 25

Fitz was troubling her if it was even possible for her to be troubled any more. After a while, she tended to just not give a shit.

But she found to her distaste, that she couldn't help to shiver slightly at the memory of him – of both of them, their hand across her neck, along her spine, the thrilling unfamiliarity of it all. She tried to feign offence or at the very least annoyance at his boldness, at the frivolity of it all but she was still too young for that. Or perhaps that was just it. She was thirty eight and young enough to desire some sense of companionship and maybe even a little intimacy. Hell, it was almost fifteen _years_ since any of that. She'd probably take to anyone willing to be a companion, even Fitz; the nephew of Madame Morrible and the awkward version of Avaric. He was alienated because of his aunt and his relation with her wasn't helping anything.

_The music started faintly, barely audible then grew into steady chords on….on a piano and a guitar._

'_Lift your eyes and let me in cause,'_

'_Baby I'm an alien like you.'_

'_Will you ever wake at night and realize,"_

"_Reason why you knew me then,'_

'_Is maybe I'm an alien too."_

"SHUT UP!"

But it was a nice sounding song.

"Really, who argues with themselves?" The Witch spun around to face Nanny who stared back at her in disdain. "You and your mother would have been quite the pair."

"I am not my mother." The Witch replied, scowling while Nanny merely shook her head and reached into her pocket, pulling out a white envelope. The Witch felt her stomach sink as she took it, setting it on the kitchen table. She didn't want to open it, she already knew her predicament and didn't need to be reminded. She stared at the envelope; it's clean, whiteness standing out against the dark wood, naturally drawing the eye…

"Oh to hell with it." she muttered and tore open the envelope, expecting it to be another red bill. It wasn't. Below the title and hospital logo was a neatly formatted, red text box, bearing the words.

**FINAL NOTICE TO PAY.**

_**Legal action will be taken if payment is not received within 30 days. **_

She shrieked in horror and quickly tore up the paper, not wanting it lying around for Nanny or Liir or herself to see. _30 days._ Just like had thirty days to come up with half a million dollars or…..she couldn't even bring herself to imagine it. Godamnit, she was screwed. After all these years she was finally getting it – all because of some idiot, clumsy girl. How pathetic was that?

She let out a huff of laughter, shaking her head. She flung the shreds of paper to the ground and watched as they fluttered slowly to the stone floor. _Isn't this something? s_he thought, a smirk plastered on her face. She could imagine the headline: The Wicked Witch – no. No they'd be far more dramatic than that. More like: The Great and Terrible Wicked Witch of the West Brought Down by Bankruptcy. Just wait until the Wizard hears about this! Wouldn't that be rich – the Wicked Witch finally being defeated by money problems and a little girl? She sputtered with laughter at the thought. It was the final, hilarious offence to end her.

But there would be time to stew over that later.

She went to the cupboard and got the supplies she needed before heading out the front door of the castle, sloppily blunt for her line of work but caution had never done her any good. She mounted her broom and took off in at an almost vertical angle to avoid being seen, even though it was already dark. She flew until the air began to freeze her nostrils then numb her hands as she peered downwards for a cluster of lights which was downtown. The space around her seemed so welcoming and empty as if she could step off her broom and walk from cloud to cloud, kicking up the mist that was now beginning to sting her skin.

She landed her broom near the hospital, leaving it against a park bench. She reached into her trouser pocket and checked the wallet sized photo, memorizing the man's dark face, his sloping brow and how his scrub seemed to hang off his skinny torso. She flicked the photo into a gutter and began to walk towards the hospital, her hands shoved in her jacket pockets to feign a sense of leisure as if she was just out for a walk. It wasn't that hard to pretend – in fact, she kind of liked this area of town. It was liked a preserved medieval place, full of cobblestone buildings with wide arches and narrow, stone alleys between sections of buildings – like outdoor corridors.

She came to the hospital, a modern building made up of sharp square shapes that stood out against the cobblestone. She stopped a few meters from the entrance, at the edge of the pool of yellow light produced by the streetlamps, her hands still in her pockets, at the ready. The Mark stepped out of the building, dressed in a blue scrub with a leather jacket slung over his thin shoulder.

As the Mark began to walk away, the Witch whipped out the silenced .22 derringer she had in her pocket, clasping both hands around the handle, bringing the gun from the bottom up.

There was a _click _and the man dropped like a ten thousand dollar rock.

* * *

"My supervisor was shot last weekend." said Fitz.

Elphaba's eyes widened and she sputtered in her drink, lurching forward, scotch dripping down her chin. She cleared her throat, composing herself as Fitz eyed her in curiosity or…something. She didn't want to know.

"I – I'm sorry to hear that." she said, aware of her rising voice

Fitz shrugged. "Well he was kind of an asshole, bless his soul." he paused to sip his drink and Elphaba waited anxiously. "I think he was involved with some kind of drug ring."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I mean it was common knowledge something was wrong with him, he was working at a _hospital_ for Oz sake! He had this skinny, sunken look like a meth addict or something."

"What was his name?" Elphaba found herself asking.

"Dr Zadock." He thought for a moment. "Arthur Zadock."

"I see." she said in a quiet voice. It was all she could think of to say and she sipped her drink in silence.

She was rather silent today, Fitz thought. She was staring down in her drink, resting her chin on her fist, a classic pose for someone deep in thought or depressed. Could it have something to do with Nest Hardings? It must be. He felt like he should say something to break the silence but instead he swivelled in his stool to face the rest of the bar. It was more of a club than a bar, dimly lit by blue and red lights, a stage with a band playing a modern, slow, sentimental song, a dance floor with people rocking back and forth and tables and booths scattered in patches around the room. He smirked suddenly. What if he got the Witch to dance?

It was completely outrageous and he gulped his drink, wincing slightly at the burn. He sat there for a moment, itching to ask then leaned back, glancing at the Witch who hadn't moved from her pose of depressing contemplations. He could do it. He had the courage to be the Wicked Witch of the West's doctor, he could certainly ask a woman to dance. He opened his mouth.

"You wanna dance?" he asked, his speech beginning to slur.

"What?"

He motioned towards the front. "Wanna dance?"

"Why in hell would I want to do that?"

He shrugged. "Well the night's young –"

"I'm not."

"Oh c'mon, I know sixty year olds livelier than you." He grinned. "How old're you, thirty eight?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Yes I'm thirty eight and –"

"And so as your doctor, I am obliged to cure you from your inner boring old person!" He leapt up from his stool, slightly dizzy and held out his hand, his eyes flashing playfully if not drunkenly. She stared at him, her arms crossed, not budging. "You deserve to have some fun."

"Fun is vastly overrated."

"But it's fun nothing less."

She glanced at his outstretched hand then at his grinning, hopeful face. He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or the lack of Life in her life that persuaded her to stand up, allowing him to lead her to the front. They sandwiched themselves between the shifting masses, forced to stand with their toes almost touching. He looked at her in the dim blue light, the black shadows highlighting the edges of her features, reflecting off her eyes and the creases of her shirt, the way it clung to her torso. He snaked his hands around her waist and she finally let go, wrapping her arms over his shoulders, around his neck. She closed her eyes as they listened to the song, rocking back and forth in time.

"_The days of solitude are gone."_

"_Because we've both spent way too long,"_

"_Hearing voices on the radio."_

"_And we can't let anybody know."_

"_No we can't let anybody know."_

"_Lift your eyes and let me in cause,"_

"_Baby I'm an alien like you….."_

It was a sad sounding song.


	26. Chapter 26

Madame Morrible had given me an extra task after the meeting the Wizard.

The idea was to record my confrontation with the Witch with both audio and video. I had a wireless microphone clipped to my shirt with a clear earpiece that seemed imbedded in my ear and a tiny camera sewn to replace the top button on my jacket. When I asked why spying on the Witch was necessary, I got another bullshit answer.

'_This will be the greatest moment in Ozian History!' said Morrible. _

'_Taking the Witch's broom?"_

'_Not just that dearie! To expose the Witch's true identity! To be rid of rumours and to see the Witch for what she really is!"_

'_C'mon, I ran her over. Anyone would be pissed."_

_Morrible's face seemed to freeze, her smile suddenly stiff and her eyes flashing. _

It was extremely disconcerting. Perhaps I should be more careful.

"I told you the Wizard is a tyrant." said Scarecrow who had been grumbling about the meeting ever since we started driving.

"How dare you!" countered Tinman for the millionth time. "The Wizard has done so much for Oz! He united the nations –"

"Yeah, so did that Chinese Emperor who organized the Great Wall." I replied. The Wizard really was an asshole although I'd never say it out loud. Oz would rip me to shreds. "He killed everyone who'd think to disagree with him."

"But _everyone _must have disagreed with that!" exclaimed Dorothy.

"Well no, only the idiots were left." Scarecrow snorted with laughter and Tinman glared at him. We were driving through an ill kept Vinkus forest on the equally ill kept Yellow Brick Road, the car rocking and bumping along branches, dents in the road and numerous ditches as if the bricks had been pried up by Quadling protesters. The road was rather narrow, surrounded by dead looking trees with smooth, purplish bark. The leaves had withered into the ground by now; it was that time of the year. I imagined taking a photograph of the scene – a dishevelled brick road, dark, naked trees under a black sky, dotted with floating bits of gray leaves…converted to monochrome on Photoshop, maybe a bit of colour popping…..

"For Lord's sake Becky, look at the road!" snapped Dorothy, uncharacteristically serious for a twelve year old.

"Right, sorry." I said. It was silent for a while, a tense silence as Scarecrow, Tinman and Lion refused to look at one another. I wanted to ask Scarecrow about everything but I couldn't with Tinman in the car, he was a patriot…like the rest of Oz. No, I couldn't ask about the Wizard or Madame Morrible or Glinda, it was far too controversial. So instead of that….

"What were you in your former life Scarecrow?" I asked. I saw him twitch slightly and he stuttered.

"Well uh…why – why would you want to know that?"

I shrugged. "Just asking."

He was silent for a moment and everyone else waited anxiously for his answer as he stared at the floor, glaring into space.

"There was blood." he said finally, not looking up. Everyone froze, stunned.

"Blood?" I said uneasily.

"There was blood everywhere, mostly dried, even on the _ceiling." _he shuddered."It was like someone had been freaking butchered or something. I was lying on a cot, someone had carried me there. I was able to walk out, down some steps, there were boot prints all over it and…the next day, the Gale Force was already boarding the place up. They painted VERRÄTER over the door."

There was a stunned, uneasy silence as everyone stared at Scarecrow.

I decided to ask him more questions. "So like…..were you some kind of –"

"You were one of them _bloody rebels!"_ roared Tinman, making everyone flinch. "You deserve to be hanged for treason!"

"The Wizard is a fascist tyrant." replied Scarecrow plainly, his voice dangerously low. "You Munchkins wouldn't know, living in that fairytale farm life of yours but I do."

"The Unnamed God does not abide –"

"Oh shut hell up!"

"Say that to the Lion."

They lapsed into silence and I reached to double check that the microphone was turned off. Oz seemed to be unfolding before me, farther and farther the longer I stayed and I wasn't sure I liked it. Well of course I didn't like it, unintentionally screwing up the Witch's life and being a public figure for it but for a while, I had to marvel at the exoticness of Oz, the thrilling unfamiliarity of its culture and people and such. But now there was a lingering uneasiness as Oz seemed more _real_ with dumbfuck politicians, an asshole dictator and Munchkin conservatives, evoking god's will to justify themselves. And then there was the Witch. That poor, broke Witch. What were we going to do about her?

I'm sure some kind of compromise could be made – I pay off her medical bill and in return, she lets me take her broom. It should work, the broom's probably useless anyway – I mean if you fall off it, you're dead so you can't fly high or fast. She might even own a car. Who knows? What kind of a car would a Witch have? Could she even get a license?

"There're lights up ahead." piped up Lion who had been silent this whole time. We were approaching a town, a little cobblestone town with extremely narrow roads and tight corners. Damn.

"Hey how far is the Witch's place?" I asked, stopping the car and setting it to P.

"A couple of miles." replied Tinman, still sounding ticked off. "Why?"

"Uh well I was thinking we could like walk."

"Why would you want to walk?" he demanded testily.

"Because I honestly can't drive through this place – the roads are like…..miniature."

"Well I'd love to walk!" exclaimed Lion and he climbed out, slamming the door behind him before any of us could respond. Tinman sighed and crossed his arms and Scarecrow glared at him angrily.

"What is wrong with you two?" spat Dorothy which I found to be entirely unexpected as did Tinman and Scarecrow.

"It's nothing you should concern yourself with, Dorothy." replied Scarecrow gently, his voice low and…_dark. _I watched in disdain as he followed Lion out the door, jogging up to him. I backed up the car out from the corridor of a road, near the entrance to a park before heading out with Dorothy and Tinman and Toto who seemed to be managing without a leash.

"Do you think the Wizard's a tyrant?" asked Tinman, looking down at me, his eyes narrowed and hard.

I said nothing and instead reached inside my jacket to turn on the device with a faint _click._ I adjusted the ear piece as I heard crackling on the line.

"Um hello?" I said.

"_Hello Miss Becky" _replied Morrible.

* * *

**Reviews make me happy!**


	27. Chapter 27

"Ya did'n answer my question the other day." said Fitz as they headed out, his speech slurred.

"What question?" asked Elphaba.

"Do um…..do you 'ave kids?"

He saw her look away, retreating in that state of depressing contemplation which he had just gotten her out of. Finally she shrugged. "I can't say."

"Ya can't or you won't?" he was definitely drunk. Drunk and courageous. "Is it that Liir kid?"

"I can't say." she repeated. "And therefore I won't."

"You have a scar –"

"I know I have a scar!" she cut him off sharply and he decided to drop it. He shoved his pockets and looked ahead at the yellowish light from the street lamps reflecting off the cobblestones and shop windows, creating heavily contrasting shadows. It was rather solemn looking but in a nice way. Like the Wicked Witch of the West, sighing as she shoved her hands in her pockets. "Sorry." she said.

"Nah it's me. I talk too much when I'm drunk."

"I once got in a lot of trouble for talking too much."

"_You_ talking too much?" he said jokingly. "I thought you were on a vow of silence!"

She smiled but then looked at the ground. "I did one of those as well."

"Why?"

She paused in thought. "For talking too much." she decided.

"Do you regret it?" he turned to look at her, the brim of her hat casting a black shadow over her face and whatever expression she might have had. It was impossible to read her.

"It would be selfish to regret it." she replied in almost a monotone, not looking up. Fitz continued to walk, his steps slightly off as he had to keep in mind to remain balanced.

How could Elphaba be the Wicked Witch? He thought. _It would be selfish to regret it – _what kind of wicked being would say something like that? Something so profound and selfless. He thought over the rumours about the Witch, about _Elphaba _and was suddenly enraged at the gross distortions brewed by Madame Morrible and her regime. He didn't care he was her only, precious nephew; he hated her for this but knew he could never say anything. He'd just live to regret it, even if it was selfish of him.

He laid his arm across the Witch's shoulder, not sure why. He simply wanted to reach out to her, to such an exotic being, full of mystery and secrets that seemed forbidden to him, even while she was right beside him, in his car, on a bar stool talking about his work or the antics of his aunt's tick tock creatures. He could feel the warmth of her, the shape of her bones under his arm like a reminder that for all the mystery, speculation and scandal that surrounded her, she was still real and present at least in body.

And she was unhappy, he thought. Sad.

"You know," he said as upbeat as he could manage. "Ya really could do with some cheerin up."

"Oh and what will that do?"

"It'll cheer you up. That's the whole point see."

"And how do you suggest I manage that?"

He turned to face her, their toes almost touching like before. "I could come in and give it a shot."

"I'd like to see you try."

He paused. Did she mean it? "I'm sure you would." he declared bravely and thank Oz! She chose to scoff at him instead of landing a slap or some other form of humility. They continued through the front doors of Kiamo Ko, both of them filled with premonitions that something was going to happen, was _about_ to happen although the nature of it was beyond them. Media and stereotypes were not so frivolous.

"We'll have to be quiet." said Elphaba. "Everyone's asleep."

The castle felt like a display to Fitz. He was like a tourist, observing the iconic, ancient home of the Royal Vinkus Family passed down for hundreds of years, maybe even thousands, making it as out of place as it was impressive in this age of rapidly forming technology.

"Do you pay proper'y tax on this?" asked Fitz.

"No the land was bought a while back." she replied as they entered the stone roomed kitchen. It was incredible – all four walls were made of large hunks of polished rock that hadn't been cut down to flatness, making the walls bumpy. But the floor was flat which was essential. The place had been innovated slightly to make it more suitable as a home, with an electric stove and fridge and…..that was it. Torches lined the perimeter of the room, lighting the place with a meagre, orange glow. It was very dark and the light that did manage to come through was heavily in contrast. But Elphaba preferred it.

And so did Fitz as he looked about the room and at the Witch. It made everything so dynamic.

Elphaba turned to meet his stare, black shadows highlighting the edges of her features, her skin appearing to glow in contrast "Um do you want coffee?" she asked, feeling suddenly awkward.

He knew what he wanted but wasn't sure if she was the same. Come to think of it, he was never sure of her; he had been too meek to find out and she never gave anything away. Well he was going to put an end to that, he decided. He had come this far tonight and wasn't about to let the moment pass. He wordlessly stood up, feeling slow, his feet planting themselves in front of the other, not stopping even as he got close to her. Elphaba could hardly comprehend what was happening and she opened her mouth to speak, to protest, to hold him off, or to welcome him.

She didn't know and was too late as he kissed her, tasting scotch in her mouth, on his tongue.

She freezed, standing rigidly, her arms at her sides while he pressed closer, leaning down on her. She tried to think but could only comprehend. It felt too familiar, too nostalgic, the stone floor beneath them, the same solidness as the wood at the corn exchange, the torches and candles giving the same orange light, the only light she allowed as he undid the buttons of her shirt, her arms wrapped around his neck, his hands trailing down her ribs as she kissed him back, relishing at the novelty…

Then Becky barged through the door.


	28. Chapter 28

"You know I still haven't decided what I'm going to do." I said as I approached the front entrance of the Witch's castle. It had a rather forbidden look to it, with arched, heavy doors like the type used at churches, surrounded by black stone…..but then again, it was night. If it was sunny right now, it would look more like Casa Loma. Come to think of it, it probably would have been better to come here during the day.

"_I'm going to be telling you what to say." _replied Morrible. It was difficult to tell the tone of her voice through telecommunication. "_And walk steadier; you're making the camera shake."_

"Yes _ma'am."_ I figured it would have been impossible to distinguish any hint of sarcasm. I reached out for the door knob. What if it was locked? It should be - it's night after all. Then there would be no need to chicken out if I couldn't even get in. I turned the door knob and felt my stomach sink as it rotated all the way, allowing the door to be pushed open, creaking creepily on its hinges. It was actually kind of cliché. I peered in the dim orange light produced by…..torches. Is there no electricity here? We really should have come here during the day. Oh well, too late now.

"I – I don't think I'll be of any service." declared Lion suddenly, trying to be stern. "So I'll wait outside –"

"No you're not." growled Tinman. "C'mon." He tugged Lion by the shoulder, dragging him into the foyer of the Witch's castle. It was hot and musty like a how I imagined a club in the 1920s must have been, with the smoke having nowhere to go. I felt as if I were entering a haunted house at an amusement park, my stomach in knots as I peered into shadows and at closed doors that held god knows what. I kept imagining turning a corner to find the Witch stepping out of a shadow, staring down through me, her eyes peeking just under the brim of her hat, dead like a void….

"How's the lighting?" I asked Morrible to distract myself.

"_It's fine. Keep moving."_

I reached up, twisting the ear bud into place. "Yeah but like where do I go?"

"_That is the question of youth dearie! But you must decide."_

_That's completely useless!_ I felt like saying but decided against it. I had this underlying wariness about Morrible that made me watch what I say. It was awkward.

"Uhhhh…..kay." I looked at Scarecrow for guidance but he was gazing around the place in a trance like an impressed tourist, his hands nonchalantly in his jacket pockets as he shuffled around the area in a daze. I began to lead the way into a cobblestone corridor, our steps echoing in the enclosed space, making everyone suddenly overly aware of themselves.

There was a noise; a short bang like someone closing a door. I froze, barely daring to breathe and listened but there was nothing except a faint buzzing in my ears.

"I think it came from up ahead." whispered Dorothy, her hand wrapped around Toto's snout to prevent him from yapping. I looked down the dim corridor and saw an open space in the distance that lead to a flight of stairs and a heavy wooden door off to the side. This was it. Someone was behind that door, probably the Witch. I stared at the door, at the impossible reality that I was to go in there.

"Fellas I really don't think we should do this." said Lion, his voice barely audible.

"_Is the Witch behind that door?" _

"Yeah." I whispered, not moving.

"_I want you confront her – no not confront her; _ambush _her. Remember you are the saviour about to capture the greatest criminal in Oz! Do not allow yourself to be deterred. You are doing away with the Wicked Witch –"_

"I thought you just wanted her broom –"

"_The Wicked Witch is not doing away with you."_

I took a breath, my hand on the door knob. I figured I could open the door quietly and sort of sneak in but it might creak and defeat the purpose. The other option would be to barge in and get it over with for that moment would be the most excruciating. I decided toward the latter, glancing behind me at Scarecrow, staring ahead sullenly, Tinman wringing his hands, and Lion and Dorothy clinging to each other.

I yanked the doorknob and threw open the door, steeling myself for the wrath of the Wicked Witch of the West. I stopped short at the sight.

"What the…?" My mouth was hanging open, shocked beyond comprehension as I stood still in the doorway.

"_Oh my god." breathed Morrible in disbelief. _

I saw a flash of a green woman pressed against a tall man with black, spiky hair and a white tank top, his hands on the insides of her unbuttoned black shirt, leaning down to kiss her beneath the brim of her Witch hat, her arms wrapped around his neck. They flew apart with a loud shriek the moment I spoke, the man stumbling over his feet, falling backwards into a stool that clattered noisily to the ground while the Witch caught herself on the counter, hastily tugging her shirt so it covered her torso.

The Witch and I stared at each other, speechless. I wasn't sure if I wanted to scream for walking in on a potential hook up or to start laughing hysterically at the most mortified expression I've ever seen in my life.

"Uhhhhh…I….wow…." I said, my eyes wide.

My hand flew up to clutch my ear as Morrible suddenly went berserk on the other line, erupting into a series of screamed curses, causing the audio to crackle and hiss as the volume couldn't be picked up properly, stinging my ears. The Witch and the man stared at me, humiliated and confused as I stood there cringing with my hand clamped over my ear, managing to catch snippets of Morrible's rambling.

"_SWEET MOTHER OF *crackle* WHAT THE F *crackle* I'M GOING TO *crackle* PUT THEM ON THE LINE!"_

I blinked. "Uh – what?"

"_I SAID PUT THEM ON THE LINE!"_

I stuttered for a moment and gratefully took out the earpiece as the Witch and the man suddenly grew fearful like two teenagers getting caught in the act, their faces flaming in embarrassment and….oh Jesus I don't even want to think about it. I held out the ear bud.

"Er Madame Morrible wants to talk with you."

"WHAT?" they shrieked, their eyes popping out of their sockets. I wordlessly undid the careful wiring and feebly held out the device, the wires tangled over the box like receptor. The Witch raised a hand in a no thank you gesture, her arm wrapped around her stomach to keep her shirt in place.

"I can't talk to her!" she hissed, panicked as the line began to crackle.

"Ya can't or you won't?" said the man, his speech slurred. Are they drunk or something? Or…..magicked! I looked at the man, searching for signs of enchantment or intoxication, his red, grinning face and at the Witch who just looked like she wanted to die. She's going to be scarred forever by this. I suddenly heard footsteps, rapid, angry footsteps and we all turned around as the door opened to reveal a sleepy teenage boy and an old lady with purple coils in her hair.

"For Lurine's sake Fabala!" exclaimed the old lady and the Witch groaned while the boy took in the scene, his eyes wide. "Do you know what racket you're stirring up? Old women need their sleep and so do you!"

"What – who's this?" I asked to no one in particular….this was all on camera.

"I am her Nanny." declared the woman, her hands on her hips.

What the hell? I exclaimed internally, my brow raised. The Witch lives with a nanny! Are her parents next door as well? I began to register the scene within that context; the notorious Wicked Witch caught hooking up with a drunk guy, her _nanny_ coming down stairs to scold her like a teenager in the middle of what was supposed to be a political up heave.

I looked at the Witch, her horrified face as her Nanny – her freaking _Nanny_ made herself known. I was actually close to bursting out with laughter but held back. That would have been mean…for lack of a better term.

"Hey why doesn't….Nanny talk with Morrible?" like a parent meeting with a teacher.

"Absolutely not!" screeched the Witch, looking down on me…but considering her predicament, it really wasn't intimidating.

"Then why don't you talk with her?" I shot back fearlessly, holding up the device.

"I thought I made it clear –"

"Will all of you hush up?" exclaimed Nanny, her voice shrill. "If talking in that tick tock monstrosity is what is needed, I'll happily oblige."

I froze. I didn't think she'd go for it, I said it on a whim!

"Nanny I really don't think…." the Witch – Fabala trailed off as her Nanny made no response and plucked the device from my hands.

"Uh Miss…"

The Witch and I tried to take the device from her but she scowled at us and turned away, rolling her eyes. What if she's senile? I thought frantically. What if she starts rambling nonsense and Morrible decides to take it out on me? And Dorothy and the rest of us? And the Witch and her…friend.

I looked back at the rest of the crew, silently begging for help but Dorothy seemed too taken aback to do anything, Lion looked downright disgusted, Tinman was stifling laughter and Scarecrow….

He was gone.


	29. Chapter 29

**I'm back! ****And yea I know this is short but to be honest I don't really know how I'm going to wrap this up...**

**Enjoy!**

_**Scarecrow's POV**_

He had been abandoned, all his hopes dashed – he could feel it, welling up in his throat as he looked at the Witch, her round, brown eyes and that angular, elfish face. It was…it was painful! So painful, it was shocking. This must have been the result of a remnant of his past, something that happened between him and the Witch. Maybe she killed someone close to him, a friend or a wife or perhaps a child?

But then why did he feel so abandoned?

Becky and the Witch were hopping about the nanny, coaxing her to drop the device while everyone watched uselessly.

And there was the man. That damned imposter! How dare he? Scarecrow was ready to kill him, he could feel it in his gut, his fists clenched, his eyes glowering with a fury he didn't know he possessed. He had been betrayed, forgotten, replaced! But replaced with what? And why? It wasn't the first time he had feelings without context.

He remembered when Dorothy first led him to the wreckage sight of the Witch, the feeling of horror and _dread_ that coursed through him as he stared at the mangled body, lying dead still on the Yellow Brick Road. He remembered the tenderness with which he handled the Witch even as she screamed and cursed at him in the back of Becky's car, the sympathy he held when he laid his hand on the Witch's shoulder, the panic as she nearly got mowed over for a second time…

And there was that ranting priest at the protest.

"_WE ARE SPENDING OUR RESOURCES ON A _DEMON!"

"_No." _Scarecrow had said.


End file.
